


In The Eleventh Hour

by MadameHyde



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Nohr | Conquest Route
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-04-25 17:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 58,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14383305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameHyde/pseuds/MadameHyde
Summary: Laslow lost a family once, and then another one soon after. He will not lose a third. Meanwhile, Crown Prince Xander of Nohr struggles to keep his own family together and their hearts intact. What will retainer and Lord do when faced with the cold reality of war?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, y'all!
> 
> So the nucleus of this story was mostly just that Laslow and Peri's support conversations really captured my imagination, and Xander's angst is just played out so beautifully with a bit more nuance. 
> 
> So like, have fun and stuff.
> 
> Cross posted to fanfiction.net

In the cool darkness of the forest in the astral plane, Laslow began to dance.

His feet knew the steps almost without the help of his brain, but he hummed along to himself anyway. It was wonderful just to _move,_ without the encumbrance of his offset shoulder pauldron and his heavy sword. Both had saved his life on more than one occasion, of course, and he’d never go into battle without them, but still. Once upon a time, he hadn’t needed the sword or the pauldron.

But such times had been long ago. 

_The stars really are beautiful, out here._ He might never quite comprehend the complexities of the astral plane, but nature, at least, was universal. The constellations bloomed overhead, unfamiliar but intriguing just the same.

There was so much peace vested in dancing by himself, Laslow decided. No one to impress, no one to let down, no one to be, and no one to miss. Just Laslow and the earth beneath his feet. (Well, the dirt, anyway. He wasn’t sure if the astral plane counted as “earth,” exactly.)

Somewhere in the not-too-distant forest behind him, Laslow heard something snap. He immediately froze, balanced on the balls of his feet. He hardly dared breathe as he scanned the darkness, listening hard in the direction he’d heard the sound come from.

Silence reigned, but it was the sticky, uncomfortable kind. Just as Laslow was about to chalk it up to a forest creature, he saw a flash of red eyes in the darkness.

Laslow’s stomach dropped all the way down the Bottomless Canyon, and his eyes widened. _Risen._ He only just stopped himself from saying it out loud. As his eyes adjusted to the even darker shadows of the inner forest, he could pick out dozens of the undead abominations.

“Gods, no,” he breathed.

Cursing himself for leaving his armor and boots behind, Laslow scooped up his sword from where it had been resting in the dirt and began to run.

_W_ _ho’s on patrol tonight?_ He couldn’t remember. The schedule had been off ever since Effie had taken ill on the day that was meant to’ve been hers, and then Keaton had gone and traded with Niles, so gods only knew whose turn it _actually_ was to guard the damn place.

Already, Laslow’s stomach churned. Although this land was not his, in that moment it may as well have been. The result would be the same if he didn’t reach the castle in time. Laslow needed to warn Lord Xander, Peri, Odin, Selena— _everyone_ —before it was too late.

He tore through the forest, nearly running headlong into more than one tree. Branches tore at his bare arms, and gravel dug into his feet, but he pressed on. Nothing was more important than getting back before it was too late.

He would not lose another family.

Up ahead, the walls to the castle loomed. Laslow blinked a few times, but no, what he was seeing was real. There was no one at the gate. There should have been at least one person, preferably two, at each entrance, and the gates should have been shut, but there was no one, and the wrought iron was thrown wide.

Heart palpitating with fear, Laslow rushed through the gates, only to freeze at the sight before him:

Corpses. Dozens of them.

Kaze lay face up, sightless eyes wide. Blood had trickled down from his nose onto his armor. Lady Camilla lay in the center of a veritable knot of risen, each bearing deep gashes and she herself, slain by a well-placed arrow. Keaton lay half transformed just before the records hall, having never even had the chance to defend himself, and Beruka’s wyvern was keening over its master’s corpse, feebly attempting to make her rise.

Odin was still fighting, ridiculously-named tome in hand, while back to back with Selena, whose blade moved so quickly, Laslow could hardly see it in the darkness. His heart yearned to stand with them— _just like old times—_ but Laslow knew that he would be useless without a shield-sister of his own.

So he pressed on through the carnage, taking swipes at the occasional Risen, but mostly keeping his eyes peeled. _Where is Lord Xander?_ He thought, desperation beginning to color his judgement. _Where is Peri?_ Besides those he’d come from Ylisse with, his liege lord and fellow retainer were some of the only people he could rightly call friend in Nohr.

And how had the Risen gotten here so quickly? Laslow had seen an advance guard out in the forest, and immediately bolted. One man should have easily beaten a whole army to the punch; he wasn’t _that_ slow a runner.

_Unless you saw reinforcements,_ Laslow thought, his stomach sinking like a stone. _But then how could you have missed the vanguard? You weren’t so far from the castle as to miss everything… were you?_

And then he saw them. One golden-haired Crown Prince, impaled on his own sword, the legendary Siegfried, and one blue-and-pink haired cavalier slightly before him, perished in the process of defending her liege. Her beloved horse was nowhere to be seen.

“No,” whispered Laslow, sinking to his knees. “ _No!”_

It was like losing his mother all over again. It was like walking out of his family home after dinner, only to find the yard overrun with Risen, and his pink-haired mother calling his name—

_“LASLOW!”_

He sat up sharply, blinking grit out of his eyes. He found himself staring down one red eye and a lot of blue hair, and felt some of his breath return. A dream, then. The Risen invasion had just been a dream.

“You okay there, Laslow?” Peri asked, bubbly and childlike and very much alive as ever. “You were moving a lot in your sleep, and shouting a little, too.”

“I’m fine,” Laslow said quietly, pushing the candle Peri held out of direct range of his shirt. “Just a nightmare.”

“Boo,” said Peri, jutting her lower lip out. “Nightmares are no fun.”

Laslow snorted. “Right?” He shook his head, as if that would clear it. “Go back to sleep, Peri. I’m fine.”

She studied him a moment, her visible eye narrowing. People said Peri was a lot of things—a serial killer, for starters, as well as crazy, immature, and unfit to be retainer to the Crown Prince of Nohr—but what they always missed was how incredibly empathetic she could be, when she was of half a mind.

“You’re not fine,” she accused, poking him in the chest.

If not necessarily nuanced about said empathy.

Laslow gave a little laugh, but it was hollow. “No, I’m not. But I will be, alright?”

Peri straightened up, gave him one last squinty-eyed stare, and then disappeared out of Laslow’s tent, taking the light with her.

-)

The next morning at the royal retainers’ breakfast table, there was only one person more subdued that Laslow, and that was Odin.

“Odin, you haven’t said a single thing this entire time,” said Arthur with his typical exuberance. “Has something offended you? In the name of justice, I shall seek it out!”

Odin lifted his head up from where he had been contemplating his porridge. “I don’t think you can. In my nightly traversing of the nether realms, I received horrifying visions of—” 

“So you had a nightmare,” Selena said imperiously, tossing one long, red pigtail over her shoulder, “I don’t see what that has to do with—”

“It was about my mother,” Odin interrupted.

At such a simple statement coming from their energetic friend, both Laslow and Selena fell silent. Somewhere to their collective left, Arthur continued to jabber on about justice this and heroes that, but to the other three the world seemed to have frozen.

“You don’t talk about your Mommy very much, Odin,” said Peri, blithely continuing to eat.

“Neither do you,” Odin said, which earned a sharp look from Laslow that the dark mage didn’t quite think he had earned.

But Peri didn’t rise to the bait. “My mommy was an amazing cook,” she said. “I learned everything from her.”

Odin stared down at the hand he usually held at an uncomfortable angle before him. “I couldn’t be more different from my mother if I tried. The dark spirits that chose me as their conduit made it so.”

“Impressive you weren’t better friends with my father, then,” Selena said, preemptively cutting Peri off before she could say anything else. “He would’ve _loved_ for me to follow in his footsteps.”

“So you never became an assassin,” Laslow said dismissively, “at least you’re friends with one.”

“I don’t think anyone is friends with Beruka,” said Selena, “except for her Wyvern.”

“You are correct,” said Beruka from the other end of the table.

“Although you did became a royal retainer,” Laslow continued as if they hadn’t spoken, “so at least you have that part of him to carry with you.”

Selena rolled her eyes. “Great.”

Peri’s visible red eye grew wide. “Do you not like serving Lady Camilla?”

Selena blinked a few times. “Other way around, Peri. I don’t care much for my father. Or my mother, for that matter.” She stared at the violently red pigtail sitting on her shoulder with obvious distaste.

“You could dye your hair again,” Laslow suggested.

“The black did wondrous things for your mood,” Odin said absentmindedly. “Chiefly by announcing it.”

Selena stuck her tongue out at the dark mage. “I might.”

At that moment, Effie appeared in the doorway of the mess hall. “Peri, Laslow!” she called, coming over to the retainers’ table. She’d taken to arriving late to breakfast to help out whichever poor sods were on meal duty. “Lord Xander requests both of you in his tent immediately.”

“Right, then,” said Laslow, standing up and brushing some invisible dirt off of his navy blue gambeson.

“Are we in trouble?” Peri asked, getting to her feet as well.

“I don’t know,” Effie said apologetically. “He just said he wanted to see you immediately.”

-)

Out on the castle grounds, a light breeze stirred the cherry trees in way that would have been pleasant, ordinarily.

“I hope we’re not in trouble,” Peri said, sounding like a guilty child. “I’m not even sure what I did, this time.”

“Have you killed anyone lately?” Laslow asked. It still felt like an absurd question, even after all these years serving alongside her.

“No!” Peri said earnestly. “Ever since Lady Corrin asked us not to, I’ve been trying real hard not to kill anyone. I just didn’t expect it to be so _hard.”_ She kicked at a rock with one heeled foot.

Laslow stopped walking, and folded his arms across his chest. “ _Peri,”_ he said warningly, sounding a lot like his mother when she’d caught him sneaking out.

“It wasn’t a _person,”_ Peri defended.

“What did I say about people you don’t like still being people?”

“It was a _deer!”_ she burst out, annoyed. “Keaton finally let me go hunting with him, and it was a deer.”

Laslow was simultaneously relieved that it wasn’t a person, and annoyed that she’d left the castle without telling him. ( _Even though that’s sort of ridiculous,_ he admitted to himself privately.) “Well, I doubt Lord Xander would be annoyed with that. Keaton brings the meat back to the mess hall, right?”

Peri nodded energetically. “Well, did you do anything?”

Laslow paused to consider it. “Other than some harmless flirting with his sisters, I don’t think so.”

Peri rolled her eyes as they approached Lord Xander’s tent. “Then maybe we’re not in trouble?” she said hopefully.

“Maybe,” said Laslow with far, far less hope in his voice.

There were serious voices coming from inside, so the two retainers stopped just before the tent. Laslow listened hard, but the voices didn’t rise about a murmur. But when footsteps began approaching, he practically jumped out of the way.

“Why, if it isn’t the lovely Lady Corrin!” he managed, more smoothly than he felt.

“Hello, Laslow,” she said with a smile. Laslow noticed that her dark blue hair was falling out of its usual buns, and wondered what was troubling her so much she hadn’t noticed. “If you’re here to see my brother, he’s free at the moment.”

Laslow nodded. “Thank you, my lady.”

It was a stone-faced Lord Xander, Crown Prince of Nohr, who stood over a large, Cherrywood table laden with every sort of map an army commander could possibly need—and several that he didn’t.

“Laslow, Peri,” Xander said gravely, “have you any idea what I just heard about the two of you?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 Laslow and Peri both blinked at their liege-lord for a moment.

“That I’m an incorrigible flirt?” asked Laslow.

“Or that I’m mean and scary?” Peri asked.

Lord Xander appeared not to have heard either of them. “I’ve no issues with what two consenting adults do in the privacy of their own space, but for the gods’ sake, at least think of common decency! This is a war camp; we live in canvas tents!”

Laslow continued to blink in confusion, but Peri began to giggle. Her hoarse laughter filled the small space, and Laslow felt himself smiling more easily alongside it.

“This is _serious,_ Peri,” Lord Xander said sharply. “You simply cannot make that much noise. What if we were out in the field, and you alerted an enemy patrol?”

It suddenly occurred to Laslow what Xander was getting at. “Milord, I swear, it isn’t what you think.”

Peri continued to giggle. “Lazzy can’t even get a girl to have tea with him.”

Xander froze, the wind having just been sucked from right beneath his sails.

And then, abruptly, Xander began to laugh—deep, bellyaching laughs, the likes of which Laslow had only ever heard his lord’s siblings produce. “Okay, then tell me—why was Peri seen leaving your quarters in the dead of the night after a profuse amount of noise, Laslow?”

Laslow did his best not to shrink underneath Xander’s black-eyed stare. He opened his mouth to speak, but Peri beat him to it: “He had a nightmare, Lord Xander. I just wanted to make sure he was okay.”

“Peri,” Xander said, rather gently, all things considered, “I was speaking with Laslow.”

Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, and she sniffed audibly.

“Peri,” Xander said again, sounding for all the world like he did when Elise would start to cry as a child.

Peri’s fingers curled into fists, and she thrust them behind her back. Lord Xander may have been more tolerant of her demeanor than many other bosses may have been, but that didn’t mean his patience was endless. Besides, she owed him a lot. So she bit her lip, and looked down at her boots.

“Is this true, Laslow?” Xander said, turning to his other retainer.

Laslow nodded, some of his false cheer returning. “Yes, milord.”

Xander’s facial expression softened, just a hair. “Peri, you may go.”

She bobbed an off-balance curtsey and departed, leaving Laslow and Xander alone in the war tent. For a moment, the two men simply breathed in the silence—silence being the rarity that it was in a packed-full war camp.

“Is everything alright, Laslow?” Xander finally asked.

“With all due respect, Lord Xander, it’s my burden to bear.”

Xander airily inspected one of the war maps. “I can make it an order, if you like.”

Laslow snorted, defeated for the moment. “I dreamt of home, is all.”

Xander raised one blond eyebrow. “It is not often I hear you speak of your homeland. Has something happened?”

Laslow shook his head. “No, I just…” _Miss it,_ his mind filled in, so he started again. “One war feels very much like another, sometimes.”

“In what way? You’ve never mentioned your previous service.”

Laslow could have kicked himself.

“I had guessed, of course,” Xander mercifully continued. “After all, no one becomes so proficient with a sword overnight. Were you a mercenary?”

“Of a sort.” Laslow snorted again. “You’re astute as ever, milord.”

Xander gave a sort of half smile. “And you are evasive as ever, Laslow.”

Anger bubbled up from somewhere deep in Laslow’s gut, and his eyes narrowed. Wasn’t it obvious that if he wanted to talk about it, he would? “For good reason.”

Xander winced, mostly at himself. “Forgive me. I do not mean to pry.”

Quick as it had come, most of Laslow’s anger dissipated, and his facial expression relaxed. “I know you only ask because you care—and truly, it is one of your best qualities—but it’s just… too painful to talk about.”

“Understood.” Xander nodded. “And just so you know, the offer to speak to someone professional still stands. I would do no less for you than I have for Peri.”

Laslow smiled, because he always did. “I appreciate it. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Then you may go.” Xander let out a massive sigh. “I have maps to attend to.”

“Cheer up, friend,” Laslow said, more of his false cheer returning. “At least the maps won’t all be asking you about last night.”

Xander snorted in a decidedly un-regal fashion. “True!”

Laslow ducked out of Xander’s tent and into the bright sunshine of the astral plane. He knew he ought to go to morning training, but after last night’s nightmare, he wasn’t sure he could face a sword right now, much less a sparring partner.

_Did you ever feel this way, father? Devoid of purpose and deeply unsettled?_ Probably not, Laslow decided. His father had been so devoted to his lieges that he would even pick up pebbles (and once, while at the beach, seashells) to ensure they wouldn’t trip.

Laslow was certainly a far cry from that level of devotion. _You won’t even tell Lord Xander where you’re from,_ said the unnecessarily cruel voice in his head (which, coincidentally, occasionally sounded a lot like Selena). _You won’t even admit to your friends that you’re homesick._

_It feels like admitting defeat,_ Laslow told the voice as he strolled down the castle path. _We made the choice to come here, and we’re going to deal with the consequences._ And besides, home wasn’t home—not really. Without the ability to return to his time, there had been little to recommend staying in Ylisse. And answering questions from the baby Inigo as he grew up simply sounded like a headache.

The breeze kicked up again, bringing with it the scent of cherry blossoms and the berry patch in the southeastern corner. Laslow could just make out Lady Elise happily picking the day’s crop. Effie and Arthur were supervising and occasionally pulling the young princess out of a bush.

He was just debating going to help her—it was certainly preferable to mining ore, especially since it appeared Niles had that duty today—when he heard a familiar voice call his name.

Laslow turned to see Selena striding towards him. “So are you in trouble?” she asked in lieu of a greeting.

“Selena, you’re as charming as ever.” Laslow beamed when she stuck her tongue out at him. “And no, it was just a misunderstanding about last night.”

“Oh, I _heard_ about that,” she said, a predatory smile stretching across her face. “Are you telling me you _didn’t_ finally get some with that insane co-retainer of yours?”

Laslow huffed an annoyed breath. “You’re obnoxious.”

“You know you love me. But seriously, with all that noise, what else could have possibly been going on in there?”

Laslow first glanced over one shoulder, then the other (with a slight turn to get around that damnable shoulder pauldron). “I just had a bloody nightmare. It’s nothing for everyone to get so worked up about.”

Selena’s demeanor shifted, just a tad. “You too, huh?” she said, more quietly and with less bite than she typically did.

Laslow wondered how he could have missed the dark circles under her eyes this morning. “You as well?”

Selena nodded. “Turns out, we’re three for three this morning.”

Laslow couldn’t help it: “Your mother would be so proud.”

She scowled at him, and for a moment, the world seemed normal again. “Listen, you ass,” she said. “After you left, Odin and I decided that tonight is an excellent night to go into town. You should come.”

A drink sounded like _exactly_ what Laslow needed. “Count on it.”


	3. Chapter 3

“And _then,”_ said a very intoxicated Selena later that night, “Brady just goes, ‘Aw, shucks, Ma, I didn’t know it was important!”

Both Odin and Laslow howled with laughter, to the point that several other tables looked up from their drinks in concern.

The tavern they’d chosen was a little hole in the wall, mostly full of townspeople but also the occasional interloper from Lady Corrin’s astral plane hideout. In the firelight, amongst friends and with a cold pint of fresh ale, Laslow could almost shake the chill of seeing his friends and colleagues dead in his dreams. Peri in particular was burned into his eyelids, being his usual battle partner and all.

“Oh, oh, I have a stupendous one!” Odin exclaimed, his eyes blinking one slightly after the other. “Once, after her mother supposedly cursed her, Noire was so completely terrified, she couldn’t shoot straight! Not even this fell hand…” At this point, Odin flapped about the appendage in question. “…could save the both of us in battle!”

“She passed out, didn’t she?” Laslow asked, grinning into his tankard.

“Verily,” said Odin, taking a ferocious drink from his own mug.

Selena was laughing so hard, she had to wipe tears from her eyes. “Are you still on about that ‘fell hand’ business? I thought you dropped that when you switched to tomes.”

“On about?” Odin cried, clutching his right hand to his chest. “ _On about?_ My dear woman, there is nothing to be _on about._ This is my _life,_ and the darkness coursing through me!” He turned to Laslow. “Can you believe her, my dear arch rival Laslow… of the Azure Sky?”

“Certainly not!” Laslow replied, just as theatrically. “Why, I’ve not seen such disbelief since I mastered Sacred Dance of the Mystic Blades.”

Odin gasped so loudly, Selena rolled her eyes. “No… I’ve not seen such a secret technique in all my years! How can this be?”

“How do you stand this?” Selena said across the table to Laslow.

“I was once a student of the great Hyoo-Moring Yor Frends.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Selena cackled so heartily, she began coughing. When she went to drink from her mug, she discovered it was empty. With a huff, she got to her feet and stomped off in the direction of the bar, still coughing into her glove.

“Why do we spend time with her?” Odin asked.

“Something about homesickness and familiarity, I would imagine,” said Laslow.

“I genuinely like her, too.”

Laslow clinked his tankard against Odin’s in agreement.

“It’s rather nice to know someone who truly, deeply, and genuinely,” began Odin, “does not give a _shit_ about you and your feelings.”

Laslow smirked. “Like Niles.”

Odin’s eyes widened, and he laughed so hard he struggled to breathe. “Like _Niles!_ Like Naga-damned, no good _fucking Niles!”_

“Whoa, now!” Laslow quirked an eyebrow. “What did Niles do this time?”

“He…” Here, Odin hiccupped so mightily, Laslow was rather reminded of the time Beruka’s dear wyvern had caught cold. “…insulted the name of my glorious magic tome!”

“ _No,”_ said Laslow, equal parts sarcastic and serious.

“I know! What the hell is funny about ‘the Scarlet Tide?’”

Laslow spat out the sip of ale he’d just taken. “I’m sorry, I must not have heard you proper, because the Odin _I_ know wouldn’t be questioning that.”

“It’s a scarlet spellbook that enlists the raging ocean tides to smother someone’s soul! The name makes perfect sense!”

“Owain, it’s a euphemism!”

“For what?”

Laslow stared at him for a moment, but before he could say anything, Selena returned, thumping her pewter tankard back onto the table, alongside a plate of toasted bread topped with melted cheese. Both Laslow and Odin looked to her questioningly, but Selena just shrugged. “I think the bartender thought I was cute.”

“Or just wanted you to shut up,” Odin pointed out, taking a piece of toast.

Selena thumped him across the back of the head as she sat down. “So, what did I miss?”

“Inigo was just telling me that _apparently…”_ Odin leaned into the word, making clear just what he thought of what he was about to say. “…’The Scarlet Tide’ is a euphemism for something, HOWEVER—”

“It’s the menstrual cycle, you ass!”

Ordinarily, Odin’s shocked face was hilarious, but drunkenly, the drop from haughty to appalled was enough to send Laslow into conniptions.

“Perhaps… perhaps Niles had a point,” Odin said weakly, which of course only made Laslow laugh even harder.

Selena rolled her eyes. “Honestly, what would the two of you do without me?”

“Certainly not like my fantastic names more,” Odin muttered into his tankard.

Just then, the fiddler in the corner changed tunes to something that almost sounded familiar. Laslow felt himself grin, and was miraculously steady as he got to his feet. “Where are you going?” Selena asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“You,” Laslow proclaimed, taking her by the arm, “are going to dance with me.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Selena protested as Odin began howling, all previous insults forgotten. “I do not dance!”

“Well I’m certainly not dancing with Owain, so come on, then.”

Laslow half-led, half-dragged his old friend out to the clearing between the tables that passed for a dance floor. As the lively foxtrot got itself rolling, Laslow took Selena by the hand and the waist, and then let the music take him.

He tried not to think of how similar this felt to the beginning of his dream, and in his intoxicated state, Laslow almost managed it. Dancing was wonderfully freeing like that, even if Selena was both tripping over his feet and laughing at him at the same time.

“So, which girl of the week am I offending by falling all over you?” Selena playfully stuck out her tongue.

Laslow rolled his eyes. “You know as well as I do there’s none. Thanks for that, though.”

“Oh? It’s not Peri?” Selena waggled her eyebrows at him in a comical interpretation of exactly what he’d done earlier.

Laslow made a face. “Why would it be Peri?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Selena said airily, “maybe because of the way you’re always looking at her?”

“What, like I’m mildly concerned she’ll stab someone when I’m not looking?”

“Well, there’s that,” Selena conceded, the severity of the moment slightly undermined by the fact that she tripped—yet again—over Laslow’s foot. It was a damn good thing he’d worn boots out, even if all three had agreed not to wear armor. “But there’s also this, I don’t know…” She paused, and then, somehow, softened. “Sort of like how Henry used to look at Lady Lissa.”

Both Selena and Laslow looked to Odin, who was happily munching on more cheesy bread and ignoring the fact that some of it was stuck to his chin.

“With his eyes shut?” Laslow asked.

Selena hit him.

“Ow,” Laslow said, rubbing his arm without losing step. “I take your point, but I don’t agree with it.”

“That’s only because you’re not the one watching yourself!”

“Well, what about you?” Laslow fired back. “You’ve been seen in the company of Lord Leo often enough!”

“We are playing chess,” she said hotly, “and I’m gonna win!”

“Oh, of course you are. And the fact that he’s one of the princes of Nohr has absolutely nothing to do with it?”

“No!” Selena said, somehow inexplicably better at dancing when she wasn’t focusing on her feet. “Okay, maybe,” she amended. “But haven’t you seen his hair? He wears a _headband_ for Naga’s sake!”

“By all accounts, so does Lord Xander, and that didn’t stop you from—”

“We aren’t talking about that!” Selena interrupted all in a rush, looking over her shoulder as if Xander were going to appear at any moment. “And besides, Xander wears a crown.” Laslow smirked at her as the song ended.

They rejoined Odin at their table, and the dark mage happily pushed the slightly-congealed cheesy bread over to them.

“So what are the inconceivable odds,” Odin began as his friends both took pieces of bread, “that all three of us had visions of terror from the depths of our souls on the very same night?”

Selena’s eyes narrowed. “You bought this bread just so that we wouldn’t leave when you asked that, didn’t you?”

“Change not the question!”

Laslow sighed, and set down his uneaten piece of toast. “It’s just a coincidence, Owain.”

Odin clapped Laslow on the shoulder. The dancer-turned-mercenary gave a little start, but made no move to shake him off. “Once is accident, my fleet-footed friend. Twice…” He clapped his other arm around Selena’s shoulders. She attempted to shy away, but Odin’s fell hand clamped down with a surprising amount of force, given how drunk he was at this point in the evening. “…is coincidence, but three times?” Odin jerked his chin downwards, indicating himself. “Now that is a pattern.”

“Well, what was yours about?” Selena barked.

Some of Odin’s exuberance dimmed. “I dreamed of my mother—her younger self, the one we left behind. She had her trusty heal staff and she… she…” Odin took his hands back, shrinking in on himself even as he spoke.

Laslow was almost afraid of the answer, but he had to ask: “Was it the Risen?”

Odin nodded, something both dark and far away in his eyes.

“I suppose we don’t have to ask what yours was about,” Selena began, “do we, Inigo?”

Laslow tried to smile, but he couldn’t get his face to work quite right. “It was here,” he said. “The Risen attacked here.” Selena’s brow furrowed, and Odin’s gasp was punctuated by several hiccups. “And you? What did you dream of?”

Selena stared down at her tankard, as if it held both the meaning of life and more beer. “I dreamt of my mother,” she said after a moment. “I kept crying out and crying out, but I could never get her attention. She was always looking at _him_ instead.”

“Your father?” Odin asked through a mouthful of bread.

Selena shook her head. “Chrom.” She took a short, violent swig from her tankard, setting it down with more force than was strictly necessary. “And then the Grimleal showed up, with Robin at the head, and _Naga’s breath,_ I couldn’t tell if she was my friend or the one who summoned Grima…” Selena began to shake, sloshing ale all down her arm.

“Selena,” Laslow said soothingly. She appeared not to have heard.

“Selena,” Odin tried again, patting her back awkwardly.

Laslow gave up being nice. “ _Severa!”_

Her head jerked up, and she met Laslow’s gaze head-on.

“It wasn’t real,” Laslow said firmly. “Robin is still your friend, wherever she is.”

“Still back home with _him_ , I’d imagine,” the red-haired woman snapped.

“Severa, she’s a mother, now,” Odin tried to reason with her. “She has a little one to look after and cherish with everything in her bones.”

“I know,” Selena growled, getting to her feet. “But she left me, too.”

“You wanted to come with us.” Laslow stood up, as if even in his intoxicated state he could prevent her from leaving.

“I didn’t have a choice!” Selena bellowed.

Several tables were staring at them again, but there was no power in heaven or earth that could keep the three Ylisseans quiet, now.

“And _you_ didn’t either,” she continued, her eyes narrowing, “if I recall.”

Laslow looked down at his feet, for what was there to say to that?

“I propose a toast, then,” Odin said, tugging at the hem of Selena’s tunic and Laslow’s sleeve.

Both mercenaries settled uneasily back into their chairs, and the other tables regretfully turned back to their drinks. “To what?” Selena snapped.

Odin raised his tankard, sloshing ale all down his front as he did so. “To us, to our parents, and to everything we left behind.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Laslow raised his own mug to the level of his eyes.

When Selena didn’t immediately follow suit, both men looked to her expectantly. She heaved a very put-upon sigh, and raised her own tankard. The three friends clanked glasses and then had an impromptu drinking contest when no one wanted to be the first to put down his or her tankard.

“So here’s a question,” Selena said to Laslow as Odin got up to grab the three of them yet another round. (They’d all lost count.) She leaned across the table conspiratorially. “If you could go home, would you?”

Laslow opened his mouth, and was surprised to discover that he didn’t know the answer.


	4. Chapter 4

It was three incredibly hungover Ylissean expats who appeared at the retainers’ table for breakfast the following morning.

“Good morning, fellow friends of justice!” Arthur boomed.

“Shh, Arthur,” Selena ordered. “Not so loud.”

“Aww, does the princess have a headache?” Niles jeered.

“You’ll have one too if you don’t shut it,” she threatened.

Niles’ good eye narrowed. “Oh, I dare you.”

Selena opened her mouth to shoot off something else, but Effie effectively cut her off: “Enough! You’re behaving like children.”

Pissing Effie off first thing in the morning sort of took the fun out of verbal sparring, even for Niles, so everyone broke off into their own conversations, dutifully shoveling down porridge (sometimes with an extra handful of berries or dollop of honey).

“How are you feeling this morning, Lazzy?” Peri asked, giggling as if she already knew the answer.

“Oh, fine,” he said, winking at her in the usual way. He was immensely pleased when she giggled harder. “I just love fencing with a migraine.”

“You could come with me down to the stables?” she offered. “It’s my turn to clean the stalls.” She made a pouty face.

“Hmm,” said Laslow jokingly, “incessant clanging or horse shit? I _will_ have to think about it.”

Peri giggled. “Don’t forget the wyvern dung.”

“Oh! And wyvern dung!” Laslow said. “Well, how could I possibly say no to that? You, my fair lady, have a deal.”

Selena shot him a meaningful look when they cleared out of the mess hall, and Laslow pretended not to see it.

The pair set out across the castle grounds in companionable silence, mostly in deference to Lalsow’s headache. Peri gave Lilith a merry wave as they passed, while Laslow merely nodded a polite hello. A moment later, a harried-looking Lady Corrin burst out of the temple, barely stopping to say hello before pressing on.

“Does she seem stressed out to you?” Peri asked.

“Incredibly,” said Laslow. “I have to wonder why.”

“She hasn’t seemed like herself lately,” Peri said. “Normally when I burst into tears she’ll make sure I’m okay, but the other day my mascara was running and my nose was dribbling and she didn’t even ask why.” Peri pulled her mouth to the one side, annoyed.

“That doesn’t sound like our Lady Corrin,” Laslow agreed, studying Corrin’s retreating figure as she went. “What’s gotten into her?”

“I don’t know,” Peri said. “But I’m worried. She’s been spending a lot of time in Lord Xander’s tent, too.”

“To see Lord Xander or to talk about the war?”

Peri shot him a look. “I don’t know. I just see her leave there a lot, especially after dark."

Laslow’s first thought was that Niles would have a field day with this information, but his second thought was that nothing good could come of any combination of the Nohrian royals meeting in secret. (Or at the very least, private.)

-)

Mucking out all the horse (and wyvern) stalls went about as well as Laslow had expected, but at least it was blessedly quiet. The place might have stunk to high heaven, but by noon his headache had mostly dissipated, and by midafternoon he almost felt like himself again.

Unfortunately, with the use of his brain came his memories of last night. _If you could go home, would you?_ Selena had asked.

Up until the exact moment she had asked him, Laslow had always assumed his answer to that question would be ‘yes.’ And he fully intended to return to Ylisse at some point in the future, hopefully when the baby Inigo was old enough to understand who he was. He would like to see his parents again at some point, to see Robin and Chrom and the Lucina from his time.

But when Selena had outright asked him that, Laslow found that he couldn’t answer just a straight “Yes.” And maybe it was because there was a war going on that he was rather involved with, or maybe it was that he knew Lord Xander counted on him and Laslow was no deserter, or maybe it was that Selena and Odin were here and he wouldn’t desert them, either.

All of those sounded like part of the truth, but none of them quite struck at the heart of it.

“Peri,” Laslow said, pausing in shoveling fresh hay into one of the stalls, “do you ever think about what you’ll do after the war?”

Peri stuck her shovel into the ground at an angle she could lean on. “I’d keep working for Lord Xander, of course. He’s the best.”

"Have you never thought of returning home? To your family’s mansion?”

“Oh.” Peri worried her lower lip for a moment in thought. “I guess I could, but I don’t really want to.”

“Why not?”

Peri shrugged. “It’s just my daddy there, now. He says it’s too hard to find servants anymore, no matter how much he offers to pay, even though… even though I…”

Laslow knew the signs, alright, but he was powerless to stop them. “Peri, it’s alright. There’s no need to—”

She inadvertently interrupted him when she burst into tears.

 _Now you’ve done it,_ Laslow berated himself. Already, Peri’s mascara was running and she was shaking like a scared animal, clearly about to bolt. “Hush, Peri,” Laslow said softly, taking quiet, cautious steps toward her. “It’s alright.”

“B-but it’s because of _me!”_ she sobbed. “My daddy is all alone because of _me!”_

Laslow winced, but his voice remained calm. “How could you have known? You were only a child—”

“I was a monster!” Peri shrieked. A few of the birds in the rafters were startled into flight. “I was a tiny, evil doll— _and I still am.”_

“No, you aren’t,” Laslow said firmly.

“Yuh-huh! Even Lord Xander thinks so.”

Laslow seriously doubted that. He drew in a deep breath, and immediately wished he hadn’t. The horse stink was wretched. “Well, I don’t.”

Peri blinked at him for a moment, agog. “You don’t?” she asked, sounding very small.

Laslow shook his head carefully. “No, I don’t.”

Peri’s eyes narrowed, although she was still crying. “You told me I was horrible.”

“No,” Laslow said patiently, “I said that killing people who had done nothing to wrong you was horrible.”

“And that their loved ones would miss them,” Peri said quietly, almost too much so to hear.

Laslow tried to smile, like he always did, but his face wouldn’t work quite right. More and more, he’d noticed, it was getting to be a challenge to smile at everything anymore. “So you remember that, do you?”

“’Course,” said Peri. “That’s when everything got all complicated. And when Lord Xander said…” She sniffed loudly, and Laslow went searching for his handkerchief almost without thought. “…When Lord Xander said that I should talk to somebody about everything.”

“And you did, right?” Laslow wasn’t quite sure when it had happened, but Peri was suddenly standing within arm’s reach. He could see each individual tear still clinging to her eyelashes.

She bobbed her head up and down a few times. “Yep, right until we had to go to war.”

Laslow felt his chest tighten. How many times had he heard _that,_ he wondered? _I had something good, something to help me, something to heal me—and then I had to go to war._

“Laslow? Are you crying?”

He smiled—for real, this time. “No, Peri, I think that’s you.”

“Oh,” she said, with a little laugh. “Real tears. They happen more often now, since Lord Xander made me go talk to the nice doctor-man.”

“Was that helping?” Laslow asked.

“Sometimes. Other times it just made me feel bad.” Peri wouldn’t look at him. “Sometimes I’d leave his office and just want to curl up under my covers and cry—really cry, like this.” She gestured to her face. “Especially…” She stopped.

“Especially when?” Laslow prompted, leaning to the side a bit in an admittedly futile attempt to get her to look at him.

Peri rocked onto her toes and back. “When he’d make me talk about my mommy.”

“That can’t have been easy.”

“Oh, right,” Peri said, startling Laslow with how quickly she looked back up at him. “I forgot. You miss your mommy, too.”

“Every day,” Laslow said, any hope of false cheer gone. “We’re a matched set, you and I.”

Peri just studied him for a long moment, as though seeing him for the first time. Something in Laslow’s gut twisted and tightened, and he wasn’t sure if he felt the need to put a lot more distance between them, or a lot less.

And that’s about when Odin walked in main door.

“Laslow? Peri? Selena said you’d be in—oh!”

It was hard to tell who was more embarrassed—Laslow, or Odin. The dark mage had averted his eyes as if he’d walked in on someone changing clothes, and Laslow felt his face practically erupt.

“I, um, didn’t mean to intrude,” Odin said weakly.

“Did you need Laslow for something, Odin?” Peri asked.

Odin chanced a look through his fingers, and then straightened up. “The royal family wanted to see Laslow, Selena, and me as soon as possible.”

Laslow looked down at himself. He was covered in mud and shit and Naga knew what else. “Can I change?”

“I don’t think so,” Odin said apologetically.

“Dammit,” Laslow muttered, looking about for his sword. “I’m sorry, Peri. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, sounding more hoarse than usual. “I don’t want everyone to see me like this, anyway.”

“People see you overflowing with sorrow all the time,” Odin pointed out.

“No, they don’t,” Peri said quietly, picking her shovel back up again. “It just looks like it.”

“Oh,” said Odin. “Well, now that I’ve thoroughly made an ass of myself—come on, Laslow. Let’s get this over with.”

“Is this about last night?” Laslow asked, buckling his swordbelt back over his hips.

“Can’t imagine what else.”

“Good luck!” Peri called after them in a childish singsong.

“Thank you kindly,” said Laslow. “We’ll probably need it.”


	5. Chapter 5

Laslow and Odin met up with an ashen-faced Selena outside of Lord Xander’s tent. “Do you think someone from town complained?” Selena asked, twisting one of her pigtails.

“I didn’t flirt with _anyone_ last night!” Laslow protested.

“And we were no more boisterous than the rest of the tavern,” Odin said, stroking his chin in thought. “We even made sure not to get involved with the fisticuffs!”

“Enter!” called a voice from within that sounded suspiciously like Lord Xander himself.

All three Ylissean expats steeled themselves, took a deep breath, and ducked under the tent flap.

There were six of them already there. Lord Xander stood, as ever, at his war table, blond hair gleaming in the candlelight. Beside him was Lady Corrin, her deep blue hair in complete disarray and dark circles under her eyes worthy of their own color distinction. On her other side was her older sister Lady Camilla, looking severe and stern as ever, her lilac hair free and unbound in such a way that almost drew more attention to the fact that Lady Corrin looks out of sorts.

Lord Leo stood beside his older brother, his boyish face furrowed deep in thought. He ran his fingers seemingly absentmindedly across the spine of his beloved spellbook, Brynhildr. Next to him was the little Lady Elise, whose ordinarily cheerful air seemed subdued somewhat by her older siblings’ gravity. Even her blonde, twisted pigtails seemed to droop.

And Lady Azura stood off to the side, alone as ever. Nothing about her person moved—not even her veiled, light blue hair.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Xander said.

Laslow felt himself recoil, slightly. That didn’t sound the beginning of an indictment. To his right, Odin and Selena were similarly confused. “Of course, Lord Xander,” Laslow said smoothly. “We’re at your service.”

“Actually,” said Corrin, “I called you here.”

Now _this_ was interesting. “Same to you, milady.”

Corrin smiled, faintly. “Recently, my brother has been receiving reports of villages all about both the astral plane and Nohr being attacked by these… _creatures.”_ She shuddered. “We’re at a complete loss as to what they are, or how to fight them.

“Now my siblings have also informed me that you three aren’t from Nohr—or Hoshido.” All three royal retainers began to fidget—Selena with her hair, Odin with his fell hand, and Laslow bouncing on the balls of his feet. “So please, I beg of you—if you’ve any information from your homelands that might help us…” Corrin seemed to struggle with the words she needed, and eventually threw up her hands. “…now’s the bloody time.”

“Just so we’re clear,” Laslow said after a moment, “this has nothing to do with last night?”

Corrin blinked. “Why, what happened last night?”

“Certainly not public intoxication,” said Odin.

“Nope,” said Laslow.

“Absolutely not,” said Selena.

Despite the somber atmosphere, the royal siblings began to laugh, though some more so than others. “As I said to Laslow the other day,” Xander began, “what consenting adults do in their own time is of no concern to us.”

“Capital,” said Odin. “What do you wish to know?”

“Anything you can tell us,” Corrin said.

“Lady Corrin,” Laslow began quietly, “these creatures you’ve mentioned—do they have red, glowing eyes, or a six-eyed insignia embroidered somewhere, like a sleeve or a collar?”

“Wha-uh.” Corrin looked taken aback. “No, they don’t. What an oddly specific question.”

“Not if you’re from where we’re from,” Selena said. At the sharp look Camilla sent her way, she hastily tacked on, “milady.”

“The creatures she speaks of are purple,” Xander supplied. “They look human from a distance, but up close what should be skin is just…” He made a hopeless gesture with his hand. “… _purple._ And yet largely invisible."

“How peculiar,” Odin muttered. “Purple people wishing doom upon us all?”

“How uncomfortably familiar,” Selena muttered, folding her arms across her sternum.

Something in the corner of the room caught Laslow’s attention. He glanced over to find Azura fidgeting with one of the ribbons on her dress. “Lady Azura,” he said, putting on his most winning smile, “you seem as though there’s something you’re dying to say.”

Something hard flashed her eyes, and Laslow felt his stomach clench. But it was over so quickly, Laslow could almost have sworn he imagined it.

“I believe,” she said, “that I have seen these creatures before.”

“Really?” Corrin said, shocked.

“Why didn’t you _say_ something?” Xander demanded.

“I only just realized it!” Azura put her hands up, as if to defend herself. “It was the day you received the Yato, Corrin. Do you remember?”

Corrin breathed in sharply, red eyes going wide. “The man that Ryoma fought.”

Azura nodded grimly. “The one who nearly eviscerated the Crown Price of Hoshido, yes.”

“He was that powerful?” Leo asked, brow furrowing deeper (something which Laslow would not have deemed possible a moment ago).

Azura nodded, and Camilla glanced to Xander. “Lord Ryoma is no pushover, Hoshidan or not,” she said. “Perhaps we should hasten our investigation.”

It was at that point that Elise, who had been oddly quiet for most of the conversation, piped up: “Do you think they’ll attack here?”

“If they do, we’ll be ready,” Xander promised.

Laslow was uncomfortably reminded, yet again, of that damned nightmare. “You know, Lord Xander,” he said, “doubling the guard might not be a bad idea.”

“Right you are.” Xander nodded to his retainer. “But I know that look in Corrin’s eye. She has an idea.”    

Corrin smiled, offhandedly. “The start of one, anyway.” She glanced back toward Selena, Odin, and Laslow. “If you’ve nothing else, you may go.”

“Just one question, milady,” Laslow said.

“I swear, if this is about tea,” Corrin muttered, rubbing at her forehead.

Even Laslow had to laugh at that one. “No, Lady Corrin. I’m wondering what your plan to stop them is.”

Corrin glanced to Xander, who gave her an indecipherable look. “I want to sort out a few more details before I announce it,” Corrin said, glancing back toward Laslow. “But rest assured, I’m certain you and Peri will be amongst the first to know, when the time comes.”

Laslow studied Lord Xander and his younger sister-that-wasn’t for a long moment. “Fair enough,” he said. “Thank you, milady.”

-)

After a bath and a change of clothes, Laslow was feeling much more like his old self again as he headed to the mess hall for dinner. Compliments passed from his lips as easily as water, and Charlotte rolled her eyes and Nyx yelled at him, as was to be expected. All was beautifully normal.

The mess hall was alive and buzzing with gossip, as usual. “Where are they?” Laslow asked his fellow retainers as he took up his usual seat.

“Who?” Beruka asked, head turning sharply in his direction.

Laslow gestured to the empty head table. “The royal family, of course.”

“They’re all in Lord Xander’s tent,” Effie offered. “Felicia and Jakob just took them dinner a little while ago.”

“What could possibly require the entirety of the royal family to plan?” Niles mused aloud, stabbing at a potato with a fork.

_Corrin’s plan,_ thought Laslow. “Who knows?” he said aloud.

“Maybe a wedding?” Selena said, her heart not exactly into it. “Lady Azura has been seen with that ninja, Kaze, often enough.”

Just about everyone at the royal retainers’ table turned to look over at the table where the Kaze was deep in conversation with Silas and Gunter. The Hoshidan ninja was usually very reserved and somewhere in Lady Corrin’s vicinity, but at the moment, he seemed as relaxed as anyone.

“Aww,” said Peri, “I love weddings.”

“So has Lady Elise, though,” Effie pointed out, without even glancing up from her meal.

“But Lady Elise is just playing hide-and-seek with the fellow!” Arthur protested. “She’s too young for that sort of thing, Effie.”

“Hide-and-seek with a ninja sounds like something Odin would name a spellbook,” Selena announced with an eye roll.

A huge grin broke across Odin’s face. “Selena! That’s brilliant! I shall endeavor to find a most sharp-edged spellbook and début it in your honor.”

It took a second, but then Niles began to laugh, and so did Laslow, and then Selena realized she’d been insulted, and reached over the table to slap Odin across the face. The dark mage ducked just in time, and Selena went crashing through several bits of cutlery and ceramic ware as she lost her balance. Effie blithely picked up her current plate of food, and Beruka just stared at her fellow retainer like she didn’t quite know what to make of all this.

“See, this is why you really just have to let him be, love.” Laslow chuckled, pulling his friend back into her seat.

“Never,” Selena swore, chugging an entire glass of wine to hide how red her face was.

At some point, Jakob and Felicia reappeared with empty plates. Several of the nosier hangers-on tried to pry information out of the famously tight-lipped butler, but to no avail. The two servants disappeared back into the kitchen.

“You know,” said Odin between mouthfuls of stew, “it really has been an exorbitant amount of time since we last had some sort of life bond ceremony around here.”

“That’s because no one’s cared to get married since Effie and Arthur,” Niles said bluntly. “They’d rather have the milk without buying the cow, yeah?”

“Heartless,” said Beruka. “You’re heartless.”

“Oh, and you’re one to talk?” Niles challenged.

Beruka calmly continued eating. “I don't claim to be any different.”

Laslow leaned over to whisper to Peri, “Looks like that rumor was true.”

Peri giggled into her hand. “Maybe Lord Xander can uncomfortably tell them to keep it down next.”

Laslow snorted as Beruka and Niles continued to bicker. “He _was_ rather uncomfortable, wasn’t he?”

“Just like you,” she said, elbowing Laslow in the ribs.

He winced, since she’d managed to find the one un-armored part of his gambeson. “I can only imagine who had the dubious honor of informing Lord Leo about manhood, since I doubt it was King Garon.”

Peri’s eyes went even wider, and across from Laslow, Odin began to laugh. “I can picture it now,” said Odin, waving his hand about as if he were explaining a work of art in a museum. “Lord Leo’s incredibly violet-and-gold bedroom, an excruciatingly uncomfortable teenaged Lord Xander sitting in the desk chair, and an utterly mortified slightly-younger-teenaged Lord Leo on his bed.”

It was about that moment that moment that Jakob and Felicia reappeared from the back of the kitchen, the former balancing several pewter trays with ease, and the latter taking very careful steps with an entire porcelain tea set rattling about on the tray she carried.

“It could have been Jakob,” Selena said, inserting herself into the conversation rather than listen to Beruka and Niles’ escalating argument. Effie and Arthur were already trying to pull the bickering twosome apart.

“Wasn’t he always with Lady Corrin, though?” Peri asked. “When would he have had the time to— _OUCH!”_

The last word was almost lost amidst an unearthly crash as Felicia dropped the entire tray she was holding, spraying Peri and Laslow with hot tea and sending shattered porcelain every which way.

“Oh my gods!” Felicia cried. “I’m so sorry! I swear, I drop every pot of tea I carry, but Jakob had his hands full, and I—”

But Laslow was no longer listening to her babbling. He was watching Peri’s demeanor snap sharply from her usual childlike enthusiasm to something far deadlier. Her red eye narrowed, and she reached for the place on her back where her lance would usually be.

Almost without thinking, Laslow clamped down hard on Peri’s lance-arm. “You are not at home,” he hissed. “Felicia is not to blame.”

“She should _pay,”_ Peri hissed, trying to yank her arm back, “with _blood!”_

Felicia’s eyes widened to the size of tea saucers, and the whole room seemed to have gone silent, even Beruka and Niles. Peri gave up on getting her arm back, and for a moment, Laslow thought he’d won this round.

But then Peri somehow managed to get on her feet, balancing on those deadly heels. Laslow wrapped both arms around her middle and yanked her backwards. Peri struggled to free herself, scratching at any exposed skin with her long nails and attempting to bite at his upper arm.

“Felicia,” Laslow barked, “ _Go!”_

“Right away,” she said, bobbing an awkward curtsey before bolting to the door, Jakob right behind her (still carrying a myriad of trays).

“Come on, Peri,” Laslow said, somehow managing to get to his feet without releasing his hold on the cavalier. “We’re leaving.”

“How could you?” She shrieked, still trying to fight him even as he dodged her blows and tried to restrain her. “I thought we were _friends_ , Laslow! You were supposed to _get it!_ How could you let her go? It’s all your fault! I hate your stupid guts, you asshole!”

She continued to heap abuse on him as he dragged her out the door.


	6. Chapter 6

Laslow half led, half dragged Peri through the war camp. Most everyone who hadn’t been in the mess hall physically stopped what they were doing to stare at the Crown Prince’s retainers who were clearly in the midst of a fight. The fact that no one offered to help him or stopped him to ask where he was taking a clearly unwilling woman, led Laslow to believe three things:

  1. Rumor spread even more quickly than he’d originally thought around here.
  2. His reputation for being a failed lady-killer was even more prominent than he thought it was.
  3. So was Peri’s reputation for being an absolute terror.



There was only one place that everyone (and the woman herself) would be safe from Peri’s ire, and that was the forest.

And so Laslow continued to lead her out into the cool darkness of the astral plane. He shut his heart to the insults and pressed on. Peri didn’t stop trying to free herself until she’d worn Laslow’s hands bloody.

By the time he found a clearing to set her down in, the shrieking had mercifully stopped. Peri sat on a half-rotted stump of a log in the rising darkness, her arms folded across her chest, glaring at him

Not the sort of “Shut up before you make an ass of yourself” glare that Selena gave him almost daily, nor the “I really want to tell you to piss off” glare he got when flirting sometimes, but a true, honest-to-Naga _glare,_ full of hatred and unspoken violence.

He was surprised at how much it made his heart twist.

“Peri,” Laslow said, still feeling like the wind had been knocked out of him, “you know killing is wrong.”

“I don’t care,” she snarled. “I hate you.”

They were the words of a petulant child, but they stung to his very core. “Felicia is your friend,” he tried, a tinge of desperation in his voice. “She would never hurt you on purpose.”

“She’s a stupid servant, and stupid servants are only good for blood.”

There was no use talking to her when she got like this, when she retreated so far into herself that nothing could pierce her ironclad, mad defense. But there was one more thing he had to try:

“She didn’t kill your mother, Peri.”

She came at him so quickly and with such force that Laslow didn’t even have the chance to _think_ about bracing himself. She tackled him to the ground, eyes wild and hair falling out of her careful pigtails. Laslow hit the dirt so hard, he saw stars.

“You don’t know _anything,”_ she snarled, right in his face, “not a damn thing!”

“Get off of me,” Laslow barked, trying to throw her off.

“No!” Peri shouted, pressing down on his abdomen with all of her weight.

Laslow let out a startled “Oof!” and his abdomen spasmed. “Peri,” he coughed, the wind well and truly gone from his lungs. “Get _off!”_

“Why did you stop me?” Tears were forming in the corners of her eyes, neither wholly real nor wholly crocodile. “Why didn’t you just let me kill her?”

“You’d regret it,” Laslow managed.

“ _What loved ones does she have that I don’t?”_ Peri snarled, pressing on Laslow’s throat.

“Peri… can’t… breathe…”

“You don’t understand,” she hissed, seeming not to have heard. “Nobody ever understands. But he’s still _here,_ don’t you get it? The one who killed my mommy is still here. He could be anywhere, hiding in anyone’s clothes.” Her eyes widened and she cocked her head at a truly unsightly angle to look at him. “He could be _you.”_

Laslow made a snap decision, possibly born out of oxygen-deprived delirium. “My name… is Inigo,” he gasped out. “I’m… your... your…”

“PERI OF HOUSE DORMAND, AS CROWN PRINCE OF NOHR, I ORDER YOU TO STAND DOWN!”

Peri leapt off of Laslow like she’d been singed.

“Restrain her,” Xander ordered Leo quietly, sheathing Siegfried and sliding off his horse.

The younger of the two lords strode forward with a length of rope in his hands. His face belied nothing. “This is for your own good, Peri.”

Peri was too preoccupied with staring at Laslow’s inert body to fight Leo or his rope knots. “Why won’t he get up?” she asked, sounding very small.

“That,” said Xander, crouching down beside his other retainer, “is a very good question.”

“He’ll get up, right?” Peri asked, urgency leaking into her voice.

“I don’t know, Peri,” Xander said, a bit more sharply than usual.

He pressed two fingers to the major vein in Laslow’s neck, focusing intently. Peri began to weep softly as Xander looked for a pulse somewhere, anywhere, on his dear friend and loyal retainer’s body.

“Leo,” Xander said urgently, “a mirror?”

Leo checked all of his pockets twice, and then shook his head. “The _one_ time we don’t bring Camilla.”

“This isn’t funny,” Xander snapped, and both Peri and Leo recoiled.

“Sorry,” Leo said, offhand, although he couldn’t help but think that if Elise or Corrin had said it, his older brother would simply have agreed.

Xander put his ear right up to Laslow’s mouth, listening for breath and/or waiting to feel some rush of air or warmth.

Several long, horrifying moments passed, stretching off into eternity.

Leo began to pace back and forth, a nervous habit he’d picked up somewhere along the line. Xander remained frozen over Laslow’s body, waiting for something that seemed less likely the longer they waited. But Peri just stared, wide-eyed and horrified, tears and mascara and gods knew what else running down her face.

And then Xander heard it—a short rattling of breath, so faint that he almost couldn’t hear it over Peri’s increasingly disturbing sobs.

His whole body sagged in relief. “He’s breathing, but only just. Come on.” Xander carefully picked up Laslow’s ominously limp frame and settled him on his horse. “Leo, ride ahead with Peri. Send a healer to my tent, and then place Peri in one of the cells.”

Leo nodded smartly. “Of course, big brother."

The whole way back, Peri couldn’t take her eyes off Laslow.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Laslow awoke in an unfamiliar space, and not wearing his gambeson. He tried to sit up, and was greeted with the utter mutiny of his abdominal muscles.

A hand appeared on his shoulder. “Easy, easy,” said a familiar voice. “Don’t try to get up so quickly.”

Laslow cracked open an eye, and it took a moment, but eventually it found a mark in a familiar head of wavy blond hair. “I feel...” Here, Laslow paused to cough a few times. “…as though I’ve been hit by a _wyvern.”_

“That tackle was immaculate,” Xander agreed. “If I weren’t so concerned for your life, I might have complimented her form.”

Laslow chuckled breathlessly, and then engaged in a minor power struggle with his body to get to his elbows. He drew himself up to a sitting position, and glanced about the room. He immediately noticed the war table and a set of black-and violet paladin armor neatly arrayed in the corner, and realized that not only had the Crown Prince given up sleep to watch over him, the man had given up his own bed.

And oh, did Xander ever _look_ like he needed both. Without his armor or even his iron circlet, the Crown Prince could have been any young man in Nohr, exhausted beyond belief. The circles under his eyes were dark as his sister’s, if not more so.

“Felicia came to heal your wounds a few hours ago,” Xander said. “She said to apologize for any residual bruising. Also that she is _very_ grateful you stepped in.”

“Of course,” Laslow said. “What sort of dashing mercenary would I be if I allowed a damsel in distress to, well, remain in distress?”

Xander made a show of looking over one shoulder, and then the other, before he executed a comically exaggerated eye roll, complete with hand gestures. “You must be fine.” He got to his feet, and went to rummage about the chest at the foot of his cot for a moment.

“Have to keep up appearances,” Laslow said airily. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint the ladies.”

Xander rolled his eyes—much less theatrically this time—as he set a bottle of whiskey and two goblets on the war table. “Whose daughter have you flirted with now?”

“A better question,” Laslow said. “Whose daughter _haven’t_ I flirted with now?” He flashed a dazzling grin that only made Xander laugh, albeit a bit offhandedly.

The Crown Prince settled back into his chair a moment later, and held one of the goblets out to Laslow, who took it, although his hand shook somewhat. They wordlessly clinked glasses, and both took a sip. The strong whiskey burned in a clean sort of way all the way down Laslow’s throat, and it made his heart ache for the sort that Robin had preferred and they’d shared many a time.

“I say,” Laslow said, setting his cup between his folded legs so that he could better hold onto it, “at this rate, I’ll turn into a lush.”

“I’ll leave that to Odin and Selena,” Xander said. “There’s a slight bit of decorum involved with being the Crown Prince, you know.”

They were both avoiding the issue, and they knew it. The silence seemed to stretch on for ages, and Xander got up to pour himself another glass well before Laslow was even partially through his.

Xander, apparently, needed that second glass to say what had been bubbling beneath the surface all evening: “It’s been a while since we’ve had one of these nights.”

“I know,” Laslow agreed, staring into the depths of his cup and wondering if he was having trouble stomaching the whiskey due to his injuries, the night before, this conversation, or some combination of the three.

“She seemed to be getting better.” Xander sounded frustrated.

“She needed to keep talking to someone.”

“Damn this war,” Xander muttered, draining the rest of his goblet again.

“Right though?” Laslow said, not really to anyone.

With a heavy sigh, Xander set his goblet back down on the war table. “By all rights, it should be you who decides her fate, Laslow.”

The grey-haired man immediately shook his head. “Milord, I couldn’t possibly.”

“She didn’t try to kill _me,”_ Xander said gently. “Even though I’ll issue the order, I’d still like your input.”

Laslow tried to sidestep the issue. “Have you gotten any sleep, milord? You’re in a right state.”

Xander’s eyebrow rose in a way that would have been delicate, from anyone else. “I woke up this morning with two retainers, and had you not awoken, I would very well have gone to sleep tonight with none. So, no—how could I possibly have slept?” He smiled, just a little. “Don’t avoid the question, Laslow.”

Laslow let out a breath he hadn’t realized he held (his abdomen did). “Who knows about what happened in the forest?”

“Myself and Leo,” Xander said. “As well as whoever is on duty in the prison—one of my sisters, I believe.”

“You put her in _prison?”_ Laslow practically shouted, although his lungs couldn’t quite reach capacity.

“There was nowhere else, first of all,” Xander said sharply. “Second, don’t raise your voice to me.”

“Apologies, milord,” Laslow said, once again contemplating his cup. “Surprise got the better of me.”

The anger faded from Xander’s features. “That was unkind of me, and for that, I also apologize.” He sighed. “And yes, Laslow, I had Leo bind her hands and place her in the prison.” He held up a hand to cut off Laslow’s protests before they began. “I did not, however, arrest her. And I’m certain no one would question the need for restraints or quarantine, after the scene in the mess hall. If it is your wish, Peri can of course remain in my service, and no one would be the wiser.”

“Well there’s certainly no need for an execution,” Laslow said, trying and failing to bring about that false cheer of his. “I’m not dead, after all, and it would be such a shame to lose such a beautiful woman to her trauma.”

“Oh, _enough,”_ Xander said, although he sounded amused. “I take your point, however. My only concern is that she will have another episode.”

“We’ll take them as they come,” Laslow assured him. “Same way we always have.”

“Fair enough.” Xander got to his feet, glancing in the direction of his armor.

“Do you need help with that, milord?”

“For the love of the Dusk Dragon, you can’t even sit up! There’s no need for you to play at page-boy.”

“As you wish.” Laslow set his feet on the floor anyhow, and drew in a deep breath.

“You may remain, Laslow,” Xander said, drawing a deep violet cloak over his shoulders. “There are plenty of places for me to sleep tonight besides here.”

“Milord!” Laslow’s jaw actually dropped. “I could never—”

“To put it bluntly, Laslow,” Xander interrupted as gently as one could possibly interrupt, “I doubt I’ll sleep tonight.”

He nodded to his retainer once more, and ducked out under the tent flap.

-)

Xander felt decidedly naked without his armor. Although the trip to the prison wasn’t particularly lengthy, he felt acutely aware of how easily one could run a sword or arrow right through him. He didn’t even have the familiar weight of Siegfried at his side, although that was by design. The last thing he wanted was for someone to recognize him by the faint purple glow that edged the blade.

The second he stepped through the door, Camilla jumped out of her seat, leaving the steel axe she’d been sharpening on the table. “Will he live?”

“Peace, sister,” Xander said, flipping down the hood on his cloak. “Laslow will undoubtedly make a full recovery.”

“Good.” Camilla visibly relaxed. “Apparently, the scene in the mess hall was atrocious.”

Xander glanced over his sister’s shoulder to the cells beyond. “I don’t doubt it. How is Peri?”

“Quiet, now,” Camilla said, folding her arms beneath her unfortunately large bust. “She’s curled into a ball in the far corner of one of the cells, and has been for a while.”

Xander nodded, already on the move. “Unlock it, would you kindly?”

Camilla caught her brother’s arm in an iron-like grip. “Xander, _why_ do you keep her as a retainer? To appease the Dormands?” She snorted. “They have a lot to answer for; you needn’t retain someone who imperils your safety.”

Xander set one calloused hand over his sisters’ equally rough one. “I don’t worry for my safety in Peri’s presence, and if Laslow sees no reason for me to release her, I don’t either.”

Camilla sighed, and let go of his arm. “Then I hope she won’t be the death of you.”

“She’s in pain, Camilla, not mad.”

“Are you certain?” Camilla asked, following her older brother into the cellblock proper.

“Laslow is.”

“Oh, well then,” Camilla said, throwing her hands up, “I suppose we’ll leave the running of the country to Laslow, too? A man whose past we don’t know how and can’t even wring out of him? Beruka is more honest; _Niles_ is more honest!”

Xander whirled on his sister, his expression like flint. “I know you don’t agree with me,” he said, words like ice, “but this is unbecoming of you. Need I mention Laslow appeared alongside Selena?”

Camilla’s eyes narrowed, the way they did when she swooped in for a kill in the heat of battle. “Would you trust her to guard Corrin?”

Xander stiffened. “I would trust Peri to lead our armies.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“I believe Peri isn’t beyond saving,” Xander said, his voice little more than a fierce hiss. “I believe in the strength of her lance-arm, and I believe in Laslow’s ability to balance her out. If I’m to be different than father, I need to believe in second chances.”

“Second, sure,” Camilla said, “but this is the fifteenth.”

Xander blinked. “Have you been counting?”

Camilla smiled, just a little. “Of course not. But you haven’t answered my question—which, I suppose, answers it for you.”

Xander sighed, offering up a silent prayer to the Dusk Dragon that his sisters wouldn’t be the death of him any more than his enemies. “It’s yes, Camilla. Yes, I would trust Peri with not only my life, but with Corrin’s, as well. Or Elise’s. Or Leo’s. Or yours.”

Appeased for the moment, Camilla unfolded her arms and began sorting through the keyring for the one to Peri’s cell. “Have you spoken with Corrin since—”

“Not tonight, sister,” Xander said warningly as the tumbler clicked softly open.

“Will we _ever_ speak of this?”

“No,” said Xander, suppressing a smile as he slipped past Camilla and into the dark cell beyond.

Xander approached Peri while making a concerted effort to remain quiet but sure-footed, so as not to startle her. Camilla had been correct that his retainer had curled herself into a ball and remained so for long enough that her sobs had died down, but he wondered what sort of state tonight had left her in. Despite his obvious trust in her, Xander was still wary of Peri when she got like this. Anyone would be.

“Peri?” Xander asked.

“Go ‘way,” Peri said, her voice muffled.

“You know I can’t do that,” Xander said, crouching beside her on the flagstones.

Peri lifted her head up, just a bit. One green eye fixed on her lord’s face. Dried mascara streaked across her cheeks, and her eyes were red in a way that had nothing to do with heterochromia.

“Is Laslow okay?” she asked, her voice even raspier than usual.

“Yes,” Xander said. “Come tomorrow morning, I’m sure he’ll be right as rain.”

“Good.” Peri shut her eye again, thumping her head against the stone floor.

There was a long silence, during which Xander couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“Is he mad at me?” Peri finally asked.

“I would imagine so. He swears he was tackled by a wyvern.”

Peri whimpered softly, tears beginning to fall again. “I didn’t mean to,” she rasped. “I was just so angry, I couldn’t… I couldn’t…” Xander didn’t fill in her sentence, as Laslow might have, thus forcing Peri to finish the thought. “…I couldn’t see Laslow, I could just see _him.”_

“Him?” Xander asked.

“You know,” Peri insisted.

“I’m sorry, Peri, I haven’t the faintest idea whom you mean.”

“The one who killed my mommy.” It was barely more than a whisper.

Xander had been working to keep his temper in check (because, tired or not, he had been furious with Peri), but at that moment, he felt something in him snap, and suddenly he understood Laslow’s seemingly infinite patience with the woman. “You’ve never mentioned that to me,” Xander said kindly. “Not in so many words, anyway.”

Peri’s sobs suddenly kicked up several decibels in volume. “You shouldn’t be so nice to me, Lord Xander.”

“Why ever not?”

Peri’s fingers curled tightly into the hem of his vest. “Laslow was always nice to me, and I almost killed him.” She opened that one green eye again, and this time, even more so than tears, it was full of pain. “Don’t be nice to me, Lord Xander, _please.”_


	8. Chapter 8

The following morning, Peri refused to speak to Laslow at breakfast, choosing instead to seat herself on the end of the table beside Beruka. She refused to practice with him in the sparring ring, and when Lord Xander called them in for the day’s report, she didn’t even look at him.

On the fourth day of this, Odin pulled him aside.

“Is the blue-haired she-devil mad at you?” Odin asked.

“I’ve no idea,” Laslow said, somewhat helplessly. “She hasn’t spoken to me since the other night. I can’t get two words out of her, much less an answer.”

“Hmm.” Odin stroked his chin in thought. The effect was sort of lost due to his lack of beard. “Do you think Selena would have any ideas?”

Laslow threw up his hands. “At this point, I’m willing to try anything.”

Odin visibly brightened. “Let’s go see her, then. She’s on duty this morning.”

They found their red-haired friend examining her nails near the main gate. “Greetings, Selena the Moonborn!” Odin called.

“My dear,” Laslow added with a shit-eating grin, “how are you on this lovely day?”

“Naga preserve me,” Selena said with a massive sigh, “what the hell do you two want?”

“Well Selena,” Odin said, throwing an arm around her shoulders (much to Selena’s dismay), “it seems our dear friend Laslow is having some lady trouble.”

“’Course he is—it’s _Laslow.”_ Selena glanced to the grey-haired man. “Who did you piss off now?”

“Apparently, Peri.”

Selena blinked a few times. “Do you flirt with that maniac, too?”

“No more than anyone, and she usually just laughs. It’s just… well…” Laslow kicked at a dirt clod near the gate as he struggled to come up with the words he needed. “She hasn’t spoken to me since that night I stopped her from killing Felicia.”

“Have you tried apologizing?” Selena said, getting invested despite herself.

“Twice!”

“Giving her something?”

“She wouldn’t accept it.”

“Getting Lord Xander involved?”

“He’s no more idea than I do!”

Selena let out a low whistle. ”Well, I’ll be damned,” she said. “You’re well and truly in the shit, ain’t cha Laslow?”

He shot her a look. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Must make your job sort of awkward, eh?”

“Really, Selena, you could just say you don’t have any ideas.”

“I could try to speak to her, but I doubt she’d say much to me. Everyone knows we three are friends.” She gestured between the three of them.

“Does the she-devil have any other kindred spirits with which Selena could speak?” Odin asked.

Laslow sighed. “Can you please just use her name?”

“I thought ‘she-devil’ was better than ‘serial killer,’” Odin huffed.

“She talks to Beruka sometimes,” Selena said quickly, cutting off Laslow’s retort before he could even open his mouth. “I suppose I could—” Abruptly, Selena cut herself off when Laslow squeezed her hand.

“There,” he hissed, gesturing toward the forest. “Do you see it?”

Selena squinted hard, putting one hand on the hilt of her sword. “I’m not sure I—oh!” There, amidst the trees, was a tiny flash of red amidst the green foliage.

The three of the moved at once. Laslow drew his sword and fell into stance, ignoring how his cut-up hands protested gripping steel. To his right, Selena drew her own blade, and fell into her own deceptively lax positioning. And Odin fell back behind the two, drawing a pocket spellbook from within the confines of his robes and twisting his right arm out in his usual spellcasting stance.

“Steady, now,” Laslow murmured to his comrades. “Steady.”

Two figures materialized out of seemingly nowhere just before them. They were two—one male, one female—and dressed as Hoshidan ninja—the man in a red _shozoku_ that was oddly about the same color as his hair, the woman in a purple one that left little to the imagination.

The man’s voice was like the crunch of boots on gravel: “We come bearing a message from Lord Ryoma to his sister, Lady Corrin.”

“And you expect us to believe that?” Selena barked, grip on her sword tightening.

“Belief is irrelevant,” said the woman, “for it is the truth.”

There was still one thing Laslow couldn’t wrap his head around. “How in Naga’s name did you _get_ here?”

Both ninja shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “We followed someone,” the woman finally said. “A little girl with pigtailed ringlets.” She made a motion to illustrate, beside her own dark hair.

“Shit,” bit off Selena.

“Will you let us through?” the man pressed.

“Like hell,” Selena snarled, and shot forward, sword up in striking range.

Her sword clanged against a set of those funny ninja arm guards, but they belonged to neither the man nor the woman. Instead, Kaze had materialized between Selena and these unknown ninja, who were supposedly in service to the High Prince of Hoshido. Laslow couldn’t help but notice that their ninja’s _shozoku_ was green like his hair, and his scarf was purple, like this woman’s.

“Kaze, my friend,” Laslow said, “now would be a bad time to turn traitor.”

 “I know them,” Kaze said coldly. “If they wanted to assassinate someone, this wouldn’t be how they would do it.”

 Selena and Odin exchanged a look, while Laslow just sighed. “Well, Lord Xander won’t like this,” he predicted.

-)

The Crown Prince of Nohr ordinarily had a scowl that could send anyone running, but it seemed to have deepened for this specific meeting. The rest of his siblings, as well as Lady Azura, had been pulled from their various duties and were arrayed in an intimidating and very Nohrian fashion.

They all stood in the mess hall, Lord Xander having deemed it less intimate than someone’s tent or Corrin’s treehouse. Both the foreign ninja had their hands bound, and Kaze, Odin, Selena, and Laslow were posted, half as guards, and half as witnesses, if need be.

“You stand before Xander, Crown Prince of Nohr.” His voice resonated throughout the tiled space. “Speak.”

“I am Saizo the Fifth,” said the red-haired man.

“And I am Kagero of the Chiyome clan,” said the woman.

“We come bearing a message from Lord Ryoma, High Prince of Hoshido, for his sister, Lady Corrin,” Saizo added.

“She stands there,” Xander said, nodding toward where Corrin stood. “Speak your message.”

Saizo looked as though he wanted to protest, and so Kagero spoke in a flurry of words: “There have been attacks on Hoshido’s people by these mysterious purple… creatures.”

Already, the entire royal family stiffened, but Kagero was nowhere near finished.

“Rumor has it that Nohr has also had similar attacks, and so Lord Ryoma offers a solution. He believes he has tracked the source of these creatures to a remote mountain village near the Hoshido-Nohr border. He proposes a temporary truce so that both he and his siblings, and you and yours, Lady Corrin, might stop this mutual threat.”

“And we’re simply meant to take your word for it?” Xander asked.

“Ryoma is the only person I know more strung out on honor and duty than you are, Xander,” Corrin said. “If he truly said this, he means it.”

Xander shot Corrin an annoyed look, while several people tried to stifle their laughter.

“If I may reach into my pocket,” Saizo said, shaking his bound hands, “I have a letter.”

Xander glanced from one end of the room to the other, ensuring that all of his beloved siblings were wearing their armor. Leo took a half step in front of Azura, whose customary white dress offered no protection from any sort of projectile. Xander’s gaze lingered for a moment on Azura, “Cousin,” he said, “could you recognize Lord Ryoma’s handwriting?”

Azura considered it for a moment. “Yes, I believe so.”

Xander looked back toward Saizo and Kagero. “Very well. You may remove the letter.”

It took Saizo an absurd moment of twisting his hands beneath their rope binding and finding the correct angle to slip one into the confines of his _shozoku_ where it sat open on his chest. A moment later, he produced a small scroll, and twisted his hands back to more comfortably hold it out to Xander.

Xander strode forward and retrieved the scroll, sliding one gauntleted finger beneath the wax seal as he did so. He unrolled the paper and scanned it for a moment before passing it over to Azura.

The blue-haired woman studied the scroll for a long, tense moment.

Then, abruptly, Azura began to laugh. Leo looked to her with evident concern, but Azura just waved him off. “I’m sorry,” she said, still laughing, “I’m sorry. I’m still thinking of the honor and duty comment.”

Xander looked incredibly put out by all of his sisters, both blood-related and non-, when Corrin, Camilla, Azura, and Elise all burst into peals of laughter. Which of course, put a swift and decisive end to the tense, dignified atmosphere, which made Leo, Laslow, and Odin burst into laughter, and finally Xander gave up on all decorum and threw up his hands.

“But yes,” Azura said, wiping tears out of her eyes, “this is Lord Ryoma’s handwriting.”

Xander scanned the letter more thoroughly now, and as the laughter died away, he glanced back up to his siblings. “Well, this says exactly what the ninja just said, albeit in more detail.” Corrin was edging under his arm to get a closer look, and Xander looked surprised to find her there. He surrendered the paper without protest.

He instead trained his intense scowl on the two ninja. “You will remain in the mess hall while I pen a response to Lord Ryoma.”

“Xander, the letter is addressed to me,” Corrin said quietly.

“Then you can help me write and sign the end of it, but if he thinks I’m not getting involved in this, he’s _mad.”_

Saizo and Kagero both bristled, but they knew better than to insult foreign royalty to his face, wartime or not. “As you say, Lord Xander,” Saizo said, somehow making it sound like an insult anyhow.

"Who is on duty in the mess today, anyone know?” Xander asked his siblings.

Laslow drew in a deep breath. “I think Peri, milord.”

“Oh, excellent.” Xander was relieved that someone actually competent was in the kitchen today. “Laslow, go fetch her to make the messengers something to eat. Kaze, Odin—” Both men straightened up at the sound of their names. “—you are to remain here and keep an eye on the messengers. They are not to leave the mess hall, and you may unbind their hands as soon as my siblings and I have left.”

Both men nodded, and Kaze was fighting a smile. “Yes, Lord Xander,” they said in offbeat unison.

“Selena,” Xander called, “excellent work. You may return to your post.”

Selena gave a startled curtsey—“Milord.”—and disappeared out the main door.

“Everyone else,” Xander said, already striding forward, “with me.”

-)

After asking several people (not all of whom were helpful), Laslow managed to track down Peri to her tent, near his and Lord Xander’s. Laslow found himself wishing that tents had doors, because he knew that Peri _had_ to hear him, and loud knocking would have helped.

“Peri!” he shouted again. “I have orders from Lord Xander!”

Finally— _finally_ —she popped her head out of the main tent flaps. She said nothing, her expression expectant.

Laslow was so surprised, it took him a moment to find his voice. “You’re needed in the mess hall.”

Peri nodded, and disappeared back inside the tent for a moment. She reappeared a moment later with her trusty lance strapped to her back, and set off in the direction of the mess hall without another word.

Laslow had to jog to keep up with her. “Peri, this has got to end.”

“I don’t need an escort,” she snapped, walking even more quickly than she had been. If he weren’t so annoyed, Laslow would have been impressed that she could keep up the pace in heels.

“Peri, dearest, what did I _do?”_

Peri froze, and Laslow nearly walked right into her.

“You didn’t do anything,” she said without looking at him. “I did.”

Laslow blinked a few times. “Is this still about the other night? You know I’ve forgiven you for—”

“I haven’t.” She squeezed his arm, and Laslow winced as her nails dug into the soft skin of his forearm. “I have to keep you safe. It’s only fair.”

“I’m afraid I simply don’t follow,” Laslow said.

Peri looked at him as though he were dense. “If I don’t see you, then you aren’t there for me to hurt.”

Laslow blinked a few times. Really, the child’s logic there was impeccable, but as an adult—“Peri, that’s ridiculous. Can’t we just talk about it or something?”

She picked up walking again. “I’ve made up my mind, Laslow.”

“Are you just determined to be stubborn about this?”

Peri nodded. “Yep.”

“Augh!” Laslow glanced skyward, as if Naga could help him in this world.

His gaze jerked back down when Peri set a much more gentle hand on his forearm. “It’s okay,” she said, trying to blink something out of her red eye. “You still have Lord Xander and Odin and Selena. It’s better if we aren’t friends.”

“No, it is not better!” Laslow stared at her in complete disbelief. “Peri, I...” He pulled up short.

_Love you,_ the end of that was going to be. It was funny, really. All the times Selena had poked him for it, and Laslow had never noticed. He’d never noticed just how pretty his fellow retainer really was, just how much he missed her candid presence, her laughter, her smile, her touch, her… everything. Not until he was face-to-face with the fact that he might lose it.

By some minor miracle, Peri took his hesitance as something else entirely. “I need to get better before I can trust myself, Laslow,” she said quietly.

“But why do you insist on going at it alone? Haven’t you seen what that does to people?” _What it did to me,_ his brain filled in.

She knew, even without his saying. “You don’t try to kill Odin and Selena when you get mad.” They were right in front of the mess hall, but they could have been standing at the edge of the world.

Laslow was at a loss as to what to say. Peri patted his shoulder a few times, and then disappeared into the mess hall, leaving a tangled mess of emotions writhing inside Laslow’s ribcage, thereabouts where his heart would be.

“Lazzy boy,” Niles said, appearing out of seemingly nowhere and throwing an arm around Laslow’s shoulders, “if I might offer a word of advice?”

Laslow blinked a few times at where Peri had just been standing. “And what would that be?” he asked tiredly.

“You’re fucked.”


	9. Chapter 9

A few days after the incident with Saizo and Kagero, Lord Xander called a war table meeting with all of his siblings and their retainers in the mess hall. He announced that not only were they going to go through with Ryoma’s invitation—traps be damned—but also that they would need to be in disguise in order to delve so deep into Hoishidan territory.

Which was how Laslow and Selena ended up in Corrin’s treehouse, alongside the woman herself and all of her Nohrian family, plus Azura.

“So are we just drawing lots to see who has to do this,” Leo asked, “or what?”

“It’s just the people who are readily identifiable by hair color,” Selena said. 

Camilla sighed, eyeing her lilac locks. “That would be me, then.”

Selena nodded. “And Lord Xander.”

“What?” said the Crown Prince.

“Everyone knows the Crown Prince is blond, big brother,” Elise said, leaving the ‘obviously’ out of it. She was sitting atop Corrin’s bed, swinging her legs back and forth since they didn’t reach the floor.

“Leo is also blond,” Xander pointed out.

“And not going to be mistaken for a towering paladin,” Corrin said with a laugh. “Come on, big brother. Are you afraid of a little hair dye?”

Xander grumbled something under his breath about little sisters and pulled off his iron circlet, setting it down on the small, circular table that served as Corrin’s desk. “Is there another towel somewhere?”

“I only have the one,” Corrin said apologetically, gesturing to Camilla, who already had a white bath towel strewn about her shoulders as Selena readied the brown hair dye in a bucket on the floor.

“You could always just take your shirt off,” Laslow pointed out. “It’s not as if you’d be indecent.”

Xander glanced down to his white button-down, made another annoyed noise, and then pulled the damn thing over his head. “Pass me the hair dye, if you would."

Selena scooped up the second bottle of deep brown hair dye and passed it over to Xander. “You could probably just dunk your head in once, Lord Xander. Lady Camilla has much more hair than you.”

“Why do you have this much hair dye lying around, anyway?” Xander asked as Laslow brought over another bucket full of water.

Selena shrugged, tossing one red pigtail imperiously. “Habit.”

“Is the red fake, then?” Leo asked, studying Selena’s deft movements as she readied the mix.

Laslow laughed as he dumped a generous portion of dye into the bucket full of water. “No, that’s the real one.”

“Unfortunately,” Selena confirmed. “Alright Lady Camilla, take a deep breath.”

“Do your worst!” said the princess, and dunked the back of her head into the bucket.

Meanwhile, Corrin had undone her two customary buns and gathered all of her deep blue hair in one hand. She studied her reflection in the mirror for a long moment, and Laslow couldn’t help but wonder what she saw.

“Laslow, Selena,” Corrin said, “are either of you adept with scissors?”

“Laslow is,” Selena said, scrubbing more brown dye into Camilla’s hair, which was rapidly turning into brown sludge.

“Excellent.” Without warning, Corrin sized the dagger that was ordinarily beneath her pillow, and sliced a clean line all the way through her waist-length hair. It fell to the floor like so many blue feathers.

“Corrin!” Camilla gasped, still with her head halfway in the bucket of hair dye.

“I was getting tired of all this, anyway,” Corrin said, setting the dagger down. “Laslow, could you fix the edges, please?”

“Of course, milady.” He flashed her a dazzling grin as he scooped up the communal scissors from the circular table. “Let’s get that lovely face framed correctly, shall we?”

“How do you know how to cut hair, Laslow?” Elise asked, the only one still young enough to be unabashedly curious.

“My mother was a famous dancer,” Laslow said patiently as he rounded up a chair for Corrin to sit on. “I used to help her get ready, sometimes.”

“Would we know the name?” Azura asked from her position behind Elise. Although she was not accompanying her elder siblings on this venture, Elise had still wanted to feel included, and so had roped the songstress into braiding her hair.

“Probably not,” Laslow said amidst the quiet snip of the scissors.

“She was famous in our homeland,” Selena added, still scrubbing Camilla’s hair.

“Selena, dear,” Camilla said wincingly, “that hurts.”

Selena immediately jerked her hands back as if singed. “Sorry, milady.” She set to her task again, with as much gentleness as she could possibly muster.

“So, Selena,” Xander said, eyeing the bucket of brown dye with evident distaste, “do I just… stick my head in?”

“Backwards,” Selena ordered, pointing to her liege’s head, “like Lady Camilla. But hang on, because you’ll need the towel as soon as you pull your head out.”

Even as she said it, she pulled Camilla’s hair out of dye-water. Selena deftly used the towel to catch most of the drips, squeezing them out into the bucket.

Camilla caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and began to laugh. “Oh, this won’t do at all,” she said, catching purple steaks of her hair in her hands.

Leo snickered. “You look like Elise, the first time she tried to put the purple in.”

“You’ll need to stick your head in again,” Selena said, “but it’ll go better if you let it dry a bit.”

Camilla handed the now-damp (and browned) towel over to her older brother, who drew in a deep breath, and then dunked his own golden hair into the brown hair dye. Selena sidled over and began to scrub the dye into his roots, the same way she had for Camilla. Xander winced even more than Camilla had.

“Why do people do this for fun?” he muttered.

“It’s just Selena, milord,” Laslow said from his vantage point near Corrin’s vanity. “She’s… well, _Selena.”_

“Hey!” Selena shouted, causing Leo and Azura both to wince.

Laslow placidly continued to even out Corrin’s sudden chin-length bob. “I can assure you, dyeing one’s hair needn’t be painful.”

“If you know how to dye hair,” Elise began, “why is yours still grey?”

“Elise!” Xander barked, somehow still intimidating even with his head half-submerged in a bucket.

“Can you _please_ behave like the adult you technically are?” Leo asked.

Laslow paused in what he was doing to wink exaggeratedly at the youngest princess. “For all you know, my fair Lady Elise, my hair is actually pink.”

“Like his mama’s!” Selena said, cackling gleefully.

“How do you know she didn’t dye hers, too?” Laslow riposted.

Selena wrinkled her nose in the way that Odin thought was adorable and Laslow thought just made her look sort of like a piglet. “Who has time to dye hair in a war camp?”

“We do,” Camilla pointed out.

Selena laughed, just a little, before rosining up the towel. “Alright Lord Xander, heads up.”

As deftly as she’d pulled Camilla’s hair out of the other bucket, Selena slid the towel beneath the nape of Xander’s neck and managed to work most of the drips out before they stained the wood flooring.

Camilla studied her newly-brunet older brother for a moment. “It suits you, I think,” she said. “A tad more severe.”

“There’s no blond sticking out anywhere, is there?” Xander asked, ignoring the jab and trying to determine the answer himself.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Selena said, checking over her handiwork with a practiced eye.

“Oo, Corrin!” Elise squealed, diverting all attention over to the vanity. “You look so much _older!”_

Corrin nervously played with the newly shortened ends of her hair. “It doesn’t look bad, does it?”

Camilla studied her for a moment with an equally critical eye. “It suits you, darling. Doesn’t it, Xander?”

He coughed. “Yes, of course. You always look lovely, Corrin."

Laslow’s eyes narrowed as he studied his liege lord for a moment. Something was definitely off, the royal retainer decided. He would have to determine what; it would be a welcome change of pace.

“Does no one care about my opinion?” Leo huffed.

“Nope,” Camilla said, reaching over to pinch his cheek.

“Ow,” Leo muttered, rubbing at the side of his face.

“I’m gonna miss you guys,” Elise said, tears welling up on the corners of her eyes.

“We aren’t leaving yet, darling,” Camilla said, getting up to sit beside her on Corrin’s green bedspread. She stroked her little sister’s hair fondly, almost absentmindedly.

“With all due respect,” Laslow said, “what are we waiting on?”

“Armor,” said Xander. “Ours is a tad… recognizable.”

“Ah,” Laslow said, “going for something that screams ‘For the Glory of Nohr’ a tad less?”

Xander smiled faintly, while his siblings giggled. “Something like that.”

A faint set of knocks came from the trapdoor, and Xander, being the closest, wrenched the thing open. A set of fluffy pink-and-blue pigtails appeared, followed by the rest of a certain cavalier, and Laslow suddenly felt something lodge in the back of his throat.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Peri said, scooting away from the trapdoor so that Xander could shut it again. “I had to finish up the dinner dishes.”

“You were cooking,” Leo said, “why were you doing the dishes?”

“Felicia was on dish duty.”

The entire room winced, not the least of which was Laslow.

“Well,” Xander said briskly, bringing his hands together with a resounding clap, “Peri, did you get your orders this morning?”

Peri blinked a few times, and then rasped, “Lord _Xander?”_

“I guess that answers whether the disguises work,” Corrin muttered.

Peri reached out and then jerked her hand back several times, as if only by touching him could she confirm that Xander was still the same Xander. “What did you do?”

Xander cocked an eyebrow. “I, um, dyed it. Just now, actually.”

Peri blinked at him a few more times before shaking her head, as if to clear it. “Do I have to dye my hair?”

“No, darling,” Camilla said with a laugh. “You’ll just have to cut off the ends.”

Peri glanced to the pink ends of her pigtails. “Oh. That’s not so bad.”

“Come sit here, Peri,” Corrin said, getting to her feet. “Laslow was just finishing up my haircut.”

Peri seemed to notice that Xander was not the only one whose appearance was suddenly, drastically different. “Oh, _wow,_ Lady Corrin—you look so old!”

Corrin blinked a few times, red eyes unreadable. “Thanks, I think.”

Peri settled herself on the chair that Corrin had just been sitting in, her back to Laslow but looking at him expectantly in the mirror. He felt his throat constrict. _I could kill Niles,_ Laslow thought, _I really could._

So he drummed up the same false cheer he’d always had. “You’re going to need to take your hair down, Peri dear.”

“Oh, right.” Peri carefully untied the ribbons from one pigtail, and then the other, letting her hair come to rest more naturally around her face.

Laslow immediately regretted saying it, however, since not only did she smell of lavender soap and the faint hint of steel (as she always had), but also, he realized, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your hair down, Peri.”

She shrugged, revealing nothing.

With a put-upon sigh, Laslow began snipping off the pink ends to Peri’s blue hair—which actually turned out to be quite a bit of it. Laslow had never noticed just how much _hair_ she had, until the pink bits of it were sifting through his fingers. _Pink, like my mother’s was pink,_ he couldn’t help but think, _and like my daughter’s might be, one day._

Xander was watching his two retainers with the sort of careful calculation that made him such an outstanding general. Corrin knew that look—hoo, did she know it _far_ too well—and would save them from her older brother’s wrath. _Or worse,_ she thought, _his plotting._

“Peri,” Corrin said, coming to sit beside the cavalier, “Laslow has mentioned that you’re an excellent cook.”

“Thank you, milady.”

Corrin said nothing for a moment, waiting for Peri to tack anything on it. When nothing was forthcoming, Corrin glanced to Xander, who could only raise his eyebrows and shrug a little, as if to say, _I’ve no idea either._

Corrin’s facial expression simultaneously narrowed and became more inviting. Xander knew that look—hoo, did he ever—and would save his retainers from his younger sister’s plotting. _Or worse,_ he thought, _her good intentions._

But for once, the paladin was too slow—“Did you teach yourself, then?” Corrin asked.

“No.” Peri trembled ever-so-slightly beneath the scissors. The whole room seemed to have quieted, hanging onto Corrin’s transparent attempt to draw Peri back out of the shell she’d made for herself. “Well, sort of. My mommy was an amazing cook and I…” Peri faltered.

Almost without thinking, Laslow paused in his work to rub a few supportive circles into her back. Peri made a surprised noise, but didn’t tell him to stop. She drew in a deep breath, and, without further prompting, continued, “I inherited her cookbook. I used it to teach myself.”

Corrin reached out, and gently squeezed Peri’s hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Peri shut her eyes, and would have hung her head, had Laslow not physically stopped her. “It was a long time ago, Lady Corrin.”

Xander had to marvel at Corrin’s kind heart. What had taken everyone else years to latch on to had taken her a grand total of half of a conversation. How _did_ she do that?

“Well, Peri my dear,” Laslow said after another moment, “unless you wish for me to thin out what’s left, I do believe you’re finished.”

Peri looked at her reflection in the mirror, marveling as a child might at her sudden lack of hair. She twisted the ends around her fingers, giggling. “It’s so _light,”_ she said, shaking her head.

She met Laslow’s gaze in the mirror. He felt something heat up and fall through his stomach, and had to look away.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely one of my favorite chapters I've written so far.

The morning of their departure, Laslow, Xander, and Peri were awake and moving well before the sun.

Their new armor had arrived yesterday from the smithy—nondescript grey pauldrons and greaves, navy blue gambesons like Laslow’s and Selena’s embedded with star-like studs around the collarbone. It would have to be exchanged for more Hoshidan-style armor around the border, but for the moment, it would do.

Laslow had to help Xander with some of the hard-to-reach buckles on his new armor, and by the time the Crown Prince was suited up, Peri had appeared. She had drawn her newly-shortened, azure hair back into a single ponytail, and her trusty steel lance was strapped to her back. She, too, was wearing a nondescript, grey gambeson, like Laslow and Selena preferred, and without her usual heels, Laslow was surprised to find just how short the woman actually was.

Xander shouldered his knapsack and cast one last sweeping glance about the room. His gaze settled on his iron circlet, still sitting on his bedside table. It would be the first time he hadn’t worn the thing into battle since his official coronation as Crown Prince, all those years ago. His forehead felt decidedly naked, his hair much more unruly.

“You should put that away, lord Xander,” Laslow said quietly. “You wouldn’t want it wandering off.”

Xander swallowed over the growing lump in his throat. “Right.”

Peri patted his arm consolingly as Xander carefully lifted the crown from its resting place. He crouched before the trunk sitting at the foot of his cot, and unlatched the lid. His usual black-and-violet armor was already nestled inside, along with some of his spare clothes and the half-empty bottle of whiskey from the other night. Xander tenderly wrapped his circlet in one of his spare undershirts, and set the lumpy package inside.

He latched the lid shut again, and got to his feet. “Shall we?”

They stepped from his tent, the Crown Prince and his dear retainers. But as they crossed the field to where Corrin was already waiting with Jakob and Felicia, they could have been any three mercenaries from any company you like, setting out on a mission.

“I’m impressed, my dear Lady Corrin,” Laslow said the instant they were in earshot. “You managed to beat your older brother awake!”

Corrin made a face, and Xander made a spluttering noise that didn’t quite make it to laughter. “You never fell asleep,” he asked, “did you?”

Corrin shook her head, and as they came closer, Laslow could see she was holding a mug of steaming coffee between her hands. Beside her, Jakob held a coffee pot and many more ceramic mugs on a tray.

“You have my thanks, Jakob,” Xander said, taking a mug.

“Don’t think me, milord,” Jakob said as he poured the steaming liquid into Xander’s mug. “Thank your sister. It was her idea.”

Xander turned to Corrin, who was hunched over her coffee mug and braced against the early morning chill. It was nothing like a Nohrian winter, of course, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant, either. Xander drew his own cloak more tightly around him, partially to protect his coffee from immediately cooling.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” Xander asked softly, as Jakob turned to pour coffee for Laslow and Peri.

“Too much on my mind,” Corrin said without looking at him.

“Are you so worried for this mission?”

“Not exactly. Or, I guess, not entirely.” _Now_ she was was looking up at him, and Xander felt his breath catch under the weight of that ruby gaze. “Are we doing the right thing, Xander?”

It was a struggle not to reach out and tuck the hair that had fallen in front of her eye behind her ear. He avoided temptation entirely by taking a sip of coffee. “I’m not sure I follow, little princess.”

She smiled, but only just. “I believe Ryoma’s intentions are honorable, but what if I’m wrong? What if I’m leading you and Camilla right into a trap?”

“Then we’ll face it down as we always have, Corrin. You know that.”

“And then you’ll be fighting my other family, whom I would so dearly have loved to get to know.” A diamond-like tear formed in the corner of her eye, glittering in the deep blue pre-dawn. “There’s no winning here, Xander. Not unless I’m right.”

“Then believe that you are,” Xander said firmly, taking another swig of coffee. It wasn’t Jakob’s finest brew, but it would do. “There’s no sense in worrying yourself over it. Either you’re right, and we’ll take care of this issue, or you aren’t, and we still will. Be at peace, little princess.” He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and squeezing her hand. His first thought was that he hoped it wasn’t too forward, and the second was _you’re being ridiculous; she considers herself your sister._ “I’m at your back.”

Corrin smiled, a little more genuinely this time. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Xander.”

 _Nor I, you,_ he thought. “With luck, you’ll never have to.”

Meanwhile, Laslow was on his third cup of coffee and Peri was watching, mutely impressed. Jakob had already sent Felicia off to brew another pot, and looked as though he couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or simply glad that someone liked his coffee that much.

“Oh, look,” Peri said, “there’s Lord Leo.”

Laslow’s head snapped up, and sure enough, he spotted Lord Leo (looking sedate as ever, even in a nightshirt and traveling cloak), Odin (who had of course been made to give up his usual V-necked yellow getup, much to his chagrin), and Niles (who looked much the same).

“Jakob, this is wonderful,” Leo said, taking a newly-filled mug of coffee and wrapping his hands around it like a life preserver.

“Be still, my aching blood,” Odin muttered, taking a mug, as well.

“I don’t see Lady Camilla here yet,” Niles observed, rolling his one good eye at Odin.

“Don’t worry,” Laslow said cheerfully, “I’m sure you wouldn’t hear Beruka coming, anyhow.”

“I usually don’t,” said Niles.

Leo spat out a full sip of coffee. Jakob jerked sideways just in time to avoid being sprayed with the hot liquid, his expression deeply annoyed. “Niles!” Leo exclaimed, still coughing.

“What? The woman is silent as the grave.”

“That is enough for our dear liege lord’s virgin ears!” Odin said, handing his mug off to Laslow (who noticed the motion just in time to catch it) and pressing both palms against Leo’s ears.

“Ah, virgin.” Niles made a popping sound with his tongue as Leo struggled to get out from Odin’s grasp. “Well, there’s your problem.”

“I hate you,” Leo said, his face violently red in the early morning light.

Peri was giggling. “It’s okay, Lord Leo. It’ll happen when the time comes.”

“And you do,” said Niles.

Leo hit him.

“Well, now,” said a low contralto, “is the beginning of a war march, or a breakfast party?”

Laslow found his voice first. “Good morning, Lady Camilla! I must say, you’re looking lovely today. Your new hair color suits you well.”

And true, the deep brown suited her about as well as it did her older brother. Camilla had taken the time to pull all of her voluminous hair back into a braid, which curled over her shoulder like a Wyvern tail. “Thank you, Laslow,” she said, gracious even when unamused. “Jakob, dear, is there still coffee?”

Jakob shook his head regretfully. “I just sent Felicia for more, milady. She should be here momentarily.”

Selena took a step closer to Odin and Laslow to hiss at the latter, “You drank all of it, didn’t you?”

“Not all of it, my dove,” Laslow protested.

“Just most of it,” Odin filled in, handing Selena the remainder of his coffee.

She blinked in surprise, her hands catching the ceramic and immediately wrapping around the warm exterior. It was rare to catch Selena so completely off guard, but every once in a while, Odin managed it. “I don’t need to drink yours, Odin,” she said. “I mean, who knows what could be lurking in it now?”

Both Odin and Laslow saw right through her. “Drink your fill of the coarse black nectar of the gods,” Odin said. “I can wait for Felicia.”

“Why are you like this?” Selena asked, burying her nose in her mug. She didn’t sound quite so annoyed as usual, though.

Camilla came over to where Corrin and Xander were standing. The former looked deeply pensive, and as ever, the latter simply looked concerned. “Is everyone here?” Camilla asked.

Xander did a quick head count. “Not quite. I also promised Elise the chance to say good-bye.”

“Well, we certainly can’t deprive her of that,” Camilla said with a nod. “Besides, apparently Jakob sent for more coffee.”

“That was a brilliant tactical move on your part, sister,” Leo said, joining his older siblings.

Corrin blushed deeply pink. “It wasn’t a tactical move,” she mumbled, “I just wanted coffee and knew that everyone else would.”

“My little sister is growing up,” Camilla said, resisting the urge to pinch her cheeks. “She’s become quite the hostess. I was impressed with how well you handled Laslow and Peri’s… awkwardness, the other night.” Camilla turned to Xander. “What is that, anyhow?”

Xander rubbed at the headache already blooming behind his eyes. “One part the Felicia incident, one part sexual tension, one part just how Peri is, I think.”

“I don’t envy your position,” Camilla said.

“Yeah, I’d still take Niles over that,” Leo said. “Also, Xander, who’s missing?”

“Kaze.” It was Corrin who answered instead of Xander. “And Azura said she would say good bye, as well.”

“Gee,” said Leo flatly, “I wonder where they are.”

“Now, now, Leo,” said Camilla indulgently, “this family can only allow for one lovelorn sibling at a time.”

Xander glanced at Camilla. “Your wyvern will be fine.”

Corrin and Leo both burst into fits of giggles, and Camilla was forced to admit, “Okay, that was a good one.”

Shortly after that, Kaze and Azura appeared (thus confirming Leo’s suspicions), and then Felicia arrived, carrying a fresh pot of coffee very carefully on a silver tray. Jakob immediately relieved her of her burden, and the assembled warriors breathed a collective sigh of relieve.

“Felicia, my dear,” said Laslow as he plucked yet another cup of coffee from the tray, “I think I might love you.”

Felicia giggled uncomfortably. “Um…” She glanced to Selena, who shrugged. “…thank you?”

“Pay him no mind,” said Odin, taking a sip of his new cup of coffee with obvious relief. “He does this sort of thing.” Behind him, Peri scowled, and Felicia shivered under the scrutiny.

“How long are we prepared to wait for Elise?” Camilla asked, blowing delicately across the surface of her coffee.

“How many tears and fits are you prepared to suffer upon our return?” Xander asked.

Camilla winced. “Fair point.”

"I’ll make sure she’s alright while you’re gone,” Leo promised his older siblings. “You all just have to come back in once piece.”

“Of course,” Corrin promised. “Ryoma is nothing if not honorable.”

“It’s actually not Prince Ryoma I’m worried about,” Leo mumbled, kicking at a rock near his foot.

"I have full faith in your ability to command the army in Corrin’s and my absence,” Xander said firmly.

“I’m not you, Xander,” Leo said quietly.

Xander’s heart twisted. This was not a conversation he wanted to revisit, particularly not first thing in the morning. “And thank goodness for that,” Camilla interjected. “You might discover something our dear brother may have missed.”

Leo opened his mouth to respond, but he never had the chance.

From across the courtyard, a short, blonde-haired figure was pelting across the way, trailed by two larger, incredibly put-upon figures. Elise didn’t let up her pace until she was nearly upon her siblings, and crashed into Corrin with the force of a miniature stallion.

“Oof!” exclaimed Corrin, catching Elise in her arms just the same.

“I’m sorry big sister!” Elise said breathlessly, squeezing even more breath out of her draconic sister. “I overslept.”

She let go of Corrin to hug Camilla just as fiercely. The wyvern rider smiled, and held her little sister tightly. “It’s alright, dear.”

Elise then crashed into Xander, who lifted her off her feet as he hugged her back. Elise giggled as she dangled in the air a moment, before Xander set her back down again. “No harm done,” he assured her.

“Lady Elise, _please_ stop doing that!” Effie said as she and Arthur finally caught up to her.

“We simply can’t protect you when you take off like that,” Arthur said.

“I’m sorry,” Elise said sheepishly, studying her feet. She had apparently just been roused from bed; her hair was a fuzzy blonde halo about her head and she wasn’t wearing shoes of any sort. “I was just scared they’d leave without saying good bye.”

“We would never,” Corrin vowed. On either side of her, Xander and Camilla nodded gravely.

After a few more minutes of small talk, Xander began making the rounds. He counted heads, checked armor clasps, and inquired about supplies. They would leave their mounts behind—an unfortunate necessity—and as a result, everyone’s knapsacks were full to bursting. There were ten of them, altogether, and as they set their coffee cups back down and ensured their cloaks were in place, they could have been any mid-tier mercenary band, heading off to war.

Leo and Elise stood by, watching their older siblings gear up for a fight they could not aid in. They clasped hands and arms and said their goodbyes, and as the ten set off in the pale rising dawn, Leo tried very hard not to think about the fact that if Xander and Camilla didn’t come back, not only would he grieve them for the rest of his days, but he would suddenly become crown prince, a position he neither had been groomed for or wanted. He shivered, and drew his cloak more tightly around him.

Elise slipped her hand into his, the way she had when she was very little, as though she knew how dark he thoughts had become. Normally Leo would shake her off, and admonish her until she behaved more like an adult. But this morning, he let her.

And they stayed that way until well after their older siblings were no longer in view.


	11. Chapter 11

_Hiking_ , Laslow decided, _must be the gods’ way of punishing humanity for all the wrongs ever done, in the history of eternity._

He might have said as much to Peri, once upon a time, but as things stood presently, he decided the thought was better kept to himself. Besides, however much Laslow was suffering, at least he was used to it. Peri and Lord Xander typically had their mounts.

They had been walking for several days, heading toward the Hoshidan border and their contact from the Hoshidan Royal Family’s retinue. The forest was as thick and dark as any Laslow had ever encountered, and there was no end of biting insects.

“Lord Xander,” Peri said at one point to their little cluster, “can I ask something?”

“Peri, for this mission we’re trying to break everyone’s habit of ‘lord’ this and ‘lady’ that,” Xander reminded her. “But yes, you may.”

Peri ducked her head sheepishly. “Why isn’t Lord Leo coming with us?”

“I had thought he would as well,” Laslow admitted.

Xander smiled, but it was rueful. “He was meant to.” He ducked under a branch, and then continued. “But someone had to command the army in Corrin’s and my absence, and for all I love Elise, command is not her forte.”

“So he sent Odin and Niles in his place, then?” Laslow asked.

Xander nodded. “Precisely.”

Camilla appeared in their midst, although Laslow had to do a double-take to confirm it was indeed the princess. He hadn’t realized just how much he relied on the woman’s purple hair and outlandish, black armor to identify her.

“Go over the plan with me again, one more time?” Camilla asked. “I want to make sure I have it.”

Xander sighed, and rolled his shoulders under the weight of his grey armor. “We march for the border. Prince Ryoma has promised to send someone to meet us there, someone Corrin and Kaze will recognize. We are to exchange our armor through him, and he’ll lead us back to where the Hoshidan royals and their retainers are. From there…” Xander paused to slap a particularly large mosquito that had bitten down on his forearm. “…we will all take care of this purple menace once and for all.”

“And then return to war,” Peri said brightly.

“And then return to war,” Xander confirmed.

“And Leo and Elise,” Camilla said quietly, and Xander quickly sobered even further than usual.

Laslow couldn’t stand to see his lord and the lady Camilla so disheartened. “Cheer up,” he said brightly. “You’ll have plenty of stories to tell upon your return—and I’m certain that if you bring Lady Elise back something from Hoshido, she’ll love you forever.”

Camilla laughed, but Xander was not nearly so easily put off. “You may well be on to something, Laslow,” the princess said.

Peri’s brow furrowed. “Wouldn’t Lady Elise love you both forever, anyway?”

Laslow sighed. “Peri, dear, that was the joke.”

She scowled at him, and unbeknownst to the two retainers, Camilla and Xander exchanged a look indecipherable to everyone but themselves. “Are you well, sister?” Xander asked.

Camilla nodded. “Of course. And yourself?”

“Naturally.”

Laslow got the vague sense that, even had the answers not been in the affirmative, they would be given that way, anyhow. A father like King Garon did not tolerate weakness of any sort. It was a miracle Elise was as kind as she was—to say nothing of Corrin.

Peri glanced to Laslow, and for the first time since the Felicia incident, spoke to him unbidden. “Does your back hurt?”

Laslow shrugged. “No more than usual, I should say. Why?”

“Mine does.” Peri put a fist to the small of her back, trying to pop the tense muscles.

“Peri, darling,” Camilla said, “don’t take this the wrong way, but—how tightly did you wrap your breastband this morning?”

Peri looked to Camilla in surprise. “Um, the usual, I guess?”

Camilla nodded sagely. “You’ll need to wrap it more tightly than that, if you’re to be hiking instead of riding your horse. Your back probably aches simply because of your womanly endowments.”

Laslow suddenly found it very warm in the border forest. He tugged at the collar of his gambeson a few times, as though it would help. How _did_ Lord Xander stand wearing a cravat in full battle dress? The very thought suddenly seemed unbearable.

Camilla noticed his predicament, and smirked. “I can show you later, if you like,” she said to Peri.

“Thank you, Lady Camilla!”

Xander found it similarly warm in the forest, albeit for completely different reasons. “While I’m glad the answer was that simple,” the Crown Prince began, the textbook likeness of ‘discomfort,’ “could you have had that conversation, I don’t know, _anywhere else?”_

“Oh!” Peri clapped her hands to her mouth, whereas Camilla merely giggled. “I’m sorry Lord Xander, I didn’t—”

“Oh, do loosen up, brother,” Camilla interrupted, still laughing.

"We have _decorum,_ Camilla,” Xander insisted, putting emphasis on the operative word by tapping the side of one hand into the other’s palm. “It avoids _unpleasantness_ like this.”

Unpleasant was certainly the word for it. Despite having served alongside her for years, and even helped her into her armor a time or two, Laslow had never really, well, _noticed_ his partner until this very moment. And now he found he could not stop _staring_. Her hands were so delicate, now that she had discarded her usual taloned gauntlets in favor of fingerless gloves, and simply wearing her hair back in a different way made her appear closer to her proper age. He wondered what that blue hair would feel like under his fingers again, and what those hands would feel like pressed against his bare skin.

Gods, he was going to get a lance through the ribs if he didn’t recover his senses and stop fantasizing about any number of things Xander had accused them of the other night.

He managed to tear his eyes away as Camilla and Xander continued bickering. If nothing else, that would forever prove them siblings.

“Right, though?” Peri asked with a giggle, and Laslow realized he’d said that last bit out loud.

He found himself, for once, at a loss for words. He was reluctant to bring up this vow of avoidance she’d so stubbornly begun, as if calling the demon by its name would make it permanent, instead of able to be killed. He tried to think of something small, something innocent and innocuous. And then he realized, he’d never asked her:

“Have you any siblings, Peri?”

She shook her head, but didn’t seem angry. _So far, so good,_ Laslow figured. “No, I don’t. Probably for the best, though.” She glanced to him, her visible, red eye unreadable. “Do you?”

Laslow shook his head. “No, but I did have cousins I grew up with.” Never mind the semantics of Odin, Lucina, and Morgan not technically being blood. “I imagine it’s sort of similar.”

Something seemed to click in Peri’s brain. “Is that Odin and Selena?”

“Just Odin, actually. Selena came later, when we all enlisted.”

“Enlisted, huh,” said Peri, and it wasn’t a question. “You’ve never told me that.”

Dammit! He’d said too much already. Damn Camilla for bringing bodies into the equation, and damn this woman for worming her way into his heart. Laslow knew he was being unkind, even in his mind, but he couldn’t help it.

He couldn’t help but glance over to where Odin and Selena were deep in conversation, at the head of the group. He recalled that, upon arrival in Nohr, Odin had been dreadful at remembering to use everyone’s new names, and Selena had been even frostier than usual.

There was so much he wanted to tell her, and yet: “I don’t much like to talk about it.”

Peri harrumphed, and jutted her lower lip out in a pout. “Well, what _do_ you like to talk about?”

That answer came easily enough. “Poetry, dance, the art of war, the lovely features of the women in my company, dogs.”

Peri rolled her eyes, but she giggled too, just a little. Laslow took it as progress.

-)

That night, after much bickering and wrestling with tents, they’d hunkered down to camp. That first night on the road, they had discovered that their group did not easily fit into two-man-tents, specifically because there were odd numbers of both sexes. Niles had, in his usual (read: lewd) fashion, suggested he and Beruka were perfectly capable of sharing a tent. The assassin had made no outward sign that she favored the proposal, but she hadn’t outright rejected it, either.

Xander told them fine, just keep it down. Beruka had looked offended.

And so they had remained in pairs—some more intuitive than others—and, as humans are wont to do, remained there. And would remain for the entirety of the Hoshidan mission, out of ease more so than intention.

“Who has first watch, mi—Xander?” Laslow asked as he and Xander readied themselves for bed (such as it was).

Xander grinned. “Valiant attempt, Laslow. And Kaze, I believe.”

Laslow nodded. “I suppose a ninja is as good a guard as any— _milord, your feet!”_

Xander had pulled off his boots to reveal huge, red blisters across both feet. Laslow’s jaw had actually dropped at the sight. How much pain was _that_ causing, he wondered? It was a miracle Xander’s gait hadn’t given it away. Laslow tried to recall if the lord had been limping or something similar, but he doubted it.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Laslow demanded.

“Because I’m fine,” Xander said, with a self-conscious laugh. “They’re blisters; it’ll pass.”

“Xander,” Laslow said, trying to drum up the same sort of sternness the prince usually employed, “those can get infected.”

Xander heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I’m taking care of it.”

“With what?”

Xander held up the long stretch of cloth that had previously been wrapped around his foot. He gave it a little shake, for emphasis. Laslow could already see stains where the blisters had wept onto the cloth.

He folded his arms across his chest. “That’s a start. Do you have a salve?”

“Where would I get one?” Xander asked, annoyance leaking into his voice. “It’s not as if we have an apothecary lying around.”

“Yes, we do!” Laslow said, heedless of contradicting the Crown Prince (a dangerous thing, indeed—though less so than contradicting his father). “Kaze dabbles in it.”

“Do not bother the ninja!” Xander said at once. “He’s on duty.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Laslow said, getting to his feet, “I doubt he’d care.”

“ _I_ care,” Xander returned.

“And _I_ care about my lord not losing his feet,” Laslow said firmly. “Did you know Odin nearly lost his feet to infected blisters, once? Ask him to tell you about it, sometime. He spares no detail.”

A look of horror crossed Xander’s severe facial features, though at the idea of losing his feet to infection, or being told a long-winded tale by Odin, Laslow had no idea. After a moment, Xander gave a long-suffering sigh. “Go,” he said, waving Laslow off. “Be sure to give Kaze my apologies.”

Laslow nodded—“Of course, Lord Xander.”—and departed.

-)

The camp was quiet at this time of the evening, most everyone in it either asleep or trying to be. Corrin and Camilla were deep in conversation by the dying embers of the cook fire, heads bent low. Laslow took a moment to study the two sisters.

It was strange, to see Camilla so unguarded. Although the woman was, by all accounts, a perfectly compassionate and generous mistress, she was as stern as any Nohrian woman, and demanded excellence from her retainers. Selena bore it well, but was too often reminded of her mother. As she often told Laslow and Odin over drinks.

And Corrin was so kind and open in comparison to any of her siblings, except possibly Elise. It was no wonder Xander was fascinated by her; the man had, quite simply, never encountered anyone else so sincerely affectionate and unwilling to bend to decorum. She was the antithesis of everything Nohr valued (minus her battle prowess, of course), and unashamed of that fact.

“Why,” said Laslow as he approached, “if it isn’t the lovely Ladies Camilla and Corrin!”

Corrin giggled. “Hello, Laslow.”

Camilla inclined her head only slightly. “Good evening,” she said crisply.

His recent victory over Xander had made him bold—perhaps even a bit reckless. “My dear lady,” Laslow said, putting a hand to his heart, “have I done something to offend?”

Camilla fixed him in a violet-eyed stare that rivaled her brother’s. “Your flattery is empty, Laslow. I find it tiresome.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” Laslow said. “I genuinely mean every compliment I hand out.”

“So Selena has told me,” Camilla said, turning back to Corrin. It rang of a dismissal.

Corrin, however, was still looking at him expectantly, her expression curious. “Did you need something, Laslow?”

“Yes, have either of you seen Kaze anywhere?”

“I think he’s over that way.” Corrin gestured vaguely to her left. “Did you need him for something?”

If Xander were brushing off his injuries, it probably meant he didn’t want anyone to know about them, Laslow decided. “Nothing important.” Laslow bowed slightly to the both of them—“My dear princesses.”—and left in the direction Corrin had indicated.


	12. Chapter 12

It didn’t take long to track Kaze down.

He was sitting with his back to a tree trunk, legs folded across each other. Kaze kept a weather eye pinned to the horizon, in search of those purple creatures, assassins, and gods knew what else.

Laslow opened his mouth, but Kaze beat him to it: “Come to accuse me of something hateful, I take it?”

Laslow’s mouth quirked into a smile. “And I’m to hate you for being a foreigner now, am I?”

Kaze snorted, and turned to look at Laslow. He studied him for a long moment, and then relented. “What can I do for you?”

"Rumor has it, you’re an apothecary.”

"Of a sort. I mostly dabble in poisons. Why?”

"Could you make something to ease blisters?”

A small smile crossed Kaze’s face, and he glanced to Laslow’s feet. “Boots wearing on you, are they?”

Laslow glanced down, and realized, rather belatedly, that he had never put his boots back on. He had simply left his and Xander’s tent, elated at having finally won an argument with the man. _No wonder I felt so much lighter on the walk over._

“It isn’t for me,” Laslow said.

"Ah.” Kaze studied Laslow’s face a moment longer. “Must be Peri, then.” Laslow didn’t bother to correct him. “I can make a salve to aid in the healing of blisters, but I’d need my kit.” Kaze glanced over Laslow’s shoulder, back toward the camp.

“I can grab it for you. Wait right here.”

-)

Twenty minutes later, Kaze was seated over small array of herbs. He worked methodically to crush this root and these leaves with a mortar and pestle, and threw them into the small cauldron bubbling over an open flame. The smell wasn’t pleasant, exactly, but it wasn’t awful—like campfire smoke, or the sweat of someone you’re attracted to.

“Laslow, you are good friends with Odin, are you not?” Kaze asked at one point.

“We grew up like brothers,” Laslow confirmed.

“Oh.” Kaze’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t know.”

Laslow grinned. “Were you going to ask me if he’s always like that?”

“Actually,” Kaze said as he stirred the sludge-like concoction with a long, thin copper rod, “I was going to ask who ‘Lissa’ was. He keeps murmuring her name in his sleep.”

Laslow completely froze, from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. How much could he reveal? And how much would Odin—never mind Selena—throttle him for? And an even more chilling thought—what more would Odin give away in his sleep?

"Apologies,” Kaze said at once, and with sincerity. “I see I’ve touched a nerve.”

Laslow forced himself to relax, to breathe again. “It isn’t my secret to tell.”

“That’s fair.” Kaze stirred the mixture again, with increasing difficulty. Laslow wasn’t entirely convinced that was a good thing. “It just seems like such a wound for the man; I would offer to help, if I could.”

“Ask Odin, then,” Laslow said. “Honestly, Selena and I could use the help in looking after him.”

Kaze laughed, the sound open and clear like the clang of his shuriken. “And what of Selena? If you grew up with Odin as brothers, where did she come in?”

“If we’re to be trading secrets,” Laslow said cheerily, “you’ll need to answer for some of your own.”

Kaze inclined his head. “And I take you already know which?”

Laslow beamed. “Of course.” He held out one scarred, calloused hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Kaze shook his head, but shook Laslow’s hand anyway. “We do.”

Laslow made a mock Hoshidan bow, and Kaze nearly snorted into the cauldron mixture. It was bubbling righteously, now. Laslow wondered how much left Kaze had to do with the thing, and if it were safe.

"Selena’s mother, as well as my father, served Odin’s uncle,” Laslow said. “Odin and I grew up something like cousins, and Selena was the grumpy soldier’s daughter we liked to tease whenever she came around. She didn’t become a friend—not truly—until Odin, Selena, and I enlisted.”

“I _thought_ you had some military service,” Kaze said. “I wish I’d bet in the pool.”

Laslow blinked a few times. “There was a betting pool on that?”

“Niles has pools about all sorts of things.”

Laslow’s eyes narrowed. “Now you’re just being purposefully mysterious.”

“Hardly,” Kaze said. “I simply don’t wish to lend Niles any more legitimacy than he’s scraped together thus far.”

“I don’t think Niles is in any danger of legitimacy,” Laslow said, “even if he doesn’t know who his father is.”

There was a pause, and then Kaze began laughing. “That was unkind,” he tried to admonish.

Laslow shrugged. “It’s not a secret. Though speaking of, here’s the one you owe me—who was that man and the woman who showed up at the astral castle? You said you knew them.”

All mirth drained from Kaze’s facial expression. He cast his eyes downward as he struggled to stir the thick, greenish potion. He seemed to give up, and slid the copper rod out of the cauldron, laying it on its side in the dirt. He removed the cauldron from the heat, and set about turning off the flame.

“The woman was Kagero of the Chiyome Clan,” Kaze said. “She is one of Prince Ryoma’s retainers, and his trusted friend and ally. I knew her well.”

“And the man?” Laslow pressed.

“Saizo the Fifth.” The ninja’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Prince Ryoma’s other valued retainer.” Kaze glanced up to Laslow, as if to gauge his reaction. “My twin brother.”

Laslow pressed a hand to his mouth, eyes wide in horror. “But you still fight with us?”

Kaze nodded, blowing on the salve to help cool it off. “I knew the risks when I swore the oath to protect Lady Corrin.”

Laslow felt his heart twist. “For what it’s worth, I’m so sorry.”

The corner of Kaze’s mouth quirked. “Not enough to thread my family back together again, but thank you just the same.” He pressed a small clay pot into Laslow’s hands. “For Peri’s blisters. Have her use it twice a day, if she can. The blisters should die down in a week, or so.”

-)

On the other side of the camp, Beruka paced. Her tent lay empty, and she felt strangely off balance without her armor. Camilla had been trying to get her to sleep without it, and bit by bit, Beruka was trying—a gauntlet off here, a greave off there. All bets were meant to have been off in the wilderness, but Beruka had discovered on the first night out here that if she stubbornly held onto her old habits, she would drown in her own sweat and never catch a wink of sleep. And it would only get worse the closer they got to Hoshido.

On the second night, she had discovered something else entirely.

She had been meaning to catch Niles and speak with him privately, but instigating conversation was not Beruka’s strong suit. And beyond that, the man had been damnably hard to pin down. And so she would stand in this damn heat all night if she had to, well after everyone else had gone to bed, until Niles finally came by to drop into his bedroll and sleep fitfully until dawn.

Beruka used to wonder where Niles went, after he quit her bed, or she quit his, but she knew better, now. If the man wasn’t looking for somewhere to attempt to drink himself to death, he was roping a few poor sods into gambling with him. He lost as often as he won, and Beruka couldn’t fathom the man’s love for games of chance. She much preferred the solidity of strategy and skill, although she had no time for games, and no desire to befriend people she may later have to kill.

Niles himself had been dangerous enough to befriend. He had made a name for himself in the slums, and still kept in touch with his old contacts. But all that made him a target, with a capital T, and increasingly, Beruka found it difficult to accept the notion that she may one day be hired to kill him.

And all that was before he’d managed to tumble his way into her bed—and her heart, such as it was, Beruka could admit only privately.

After that, there was no going back to the old ways. Camilla had approached her, offering to hire her on (discreetly) as the royal Nohrian court assassin, as well as her retainer. Beruka had yet to accept the offer, but the longer this war stretched on, the more she figured she may have to.

“Oh, and what’s this?” came a familiar drawl. “Have you been waiting for me?”

Beruka felt, more so than saw, Niles’ approach. He flung his arms around her, and pressed his face into the crook of her neck. Beruka wrinkled her nose; Niles positively _reeked_ of alcohol. She wondered where he’d found it.

“I’m positively titillated,” Niles added, near her ear.

Beruka’s whole body stiffened, but that was not uncommon when Niles got like this. She had learned the signs partly by instinct and partly by trial and error. But whereas Niles’ ardor pressed outward (defensively, no doubt), Beruka’s had caved inward, almost to the point where it was irretrievable.

Almost.

"Shall we?” Niles added, already tugging at her waist.

No. She could not let this happen this way. She needed to tell him, not hide in the darkness with him. _I need to tell him. I need to…_ Her fists curled at her sides, and she dug her heels into the ground almost without thought. She couldn’t look at him, and she couldn’t stop staring at a fixed point somewhere above her abdomen.

Though incredibly drunk and thoroughly aroused, Niles was no idiot. “Beruka? Not in the mood?”

“Niles.” She tried. Good gods, did she try. “I… need to tell you something.”

Niles cocked an eyebrow at her. “Is this about the smell? I’ve told you before, I don’t—”

" _We have an issue.”_

A wicked grin curled across Niles’ narrow face. “Hell, you’d think someone had to drag that out of you with a rusty axe blade. Perhaps I could demonstrate, sometime?”

Beruka slammed an open-palm strike into his shoulder, and Niles let go. She was still staring down at her belly, as if it had the answer she was trying to give him.

“You could have just said no,” Niles muttered, rubbing at his shoulder. “I’m going to bed.”

He turned to leave, and Beruka snapped to, catching his arm before he ducked under the main tent flap. They stared each other down for a long moment, the Wyvern Ryder and the Outlaw, their hackles raised and blood boiling.

“I’m late,” Beruka finally blurted out.

Niles staggered, as though she’d hit him with the full force of her war axe. “I beg your pardon?” he managed weakly.

Beruka’s eyes narrowed. “My monthly bleeding. It’s late.”

Some of Niles’ sadistic fire returned: “And what do you expect me to do about it? Either you take the tansy tea, or you don’t, but if you expect me to go running off on every little whim and rub your feet in the evenings, you have some nerve—!”

A sharp slap sounded across the clearing, to the point that several owls started into flight.

“I expect you,” Beruka hissed, “to help me.”

Niles’ hand found its way to his face as he stared at her. It was still warm, and stung where she’d slapped him. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “You’re right.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “What do you need to brew tansy tea? I don’t have my normal contacts here, but I’m sure can find whatever you need.”

“I’m not taking it.”

If he were surprised before, Niles was downright _shocked_ now. “What do you mean, you aren’t taking it? We’re on a mission to enemy territory in the middle of a gods-damned war; now is not the time to have a child.”

“Now is also not the time to die when the tea doesn’t work, and the abortion goes wrong.” Anger was one of the emotions Beruka could exhibit well, Niles had quickly learned. It sharpened her edges even further, and dropped her low voice into a snarl. “I will not die of pus fever when I could simply have had the child.”

It struck Niles that, previously when this situation had happened (and mercifully, it had only been once), if the woman had died in the attempt to be rid of the unwanted child, her death would have been no great loss to him. In the end, she had simply taken the tansy tea and they’d gone their separate ways, no harm done.

It also struck Niles that, this time, neither Beruka dying nor parting ways after being rid of his child were an option. He would not be abandoned again, and he would not abandon the little creature that would be half him, and half her.

“We’re doing this.” It was supposed to be a question, but Niles couldn’t quite work up the timbre.

Beruka nodded, grey eyes solemn, instead of just cold. “Unless my monthly bleeding comes soon, yes.”

Niles felt his knees give out. Beruka caught him before he fell too far, and he leaned heavily on her. “I’m… to be a father,” he said breathlessly, and with a touch of horror.

“I know.” Beruka clapped him clumsily on the back. “I didn’t really have one, either.”


	13. Chapter 13

It was another week before their ragged troupe blew into the border town Ryoma had indicated in his letter. He had also said that he would send someone ahead to help exchange their armor, but when they arrived at the Drunken Jailer, the front room was deserted except for the innkeeper behind the bar, and a gruff-looking old man sitting in the corner, hunched over a tankard of ale.

Xander leaned over to Corrin to whisper, “Is that him?”

She tentatively shook her head, glancing to Kaze. The ninja also shook his head, and Corrin glanced back to Xander. “No, I don’t recognize him.”

“Ryoma lied, then,” Camilla said, deceptively lightly.

“I doubt it,” Corrin said, while Kaze scowled over her shoulder. “We probably just beat whomever he sent here.”

Camilla relaxed, but only slightly. “Xander, would you care to do the honors?”

The Crown Prince sighed hugely, and began to make his way over to the innkeeper. Corrin, however, slipped past him, and before Xander could think to say anything, she had already asked, “Do you have beds for ten?”

The innkeeper’s brow furrowed, and he held up a finger as he went digging through his list of rooms. The man at the end of the bar eyed the pair for a moment, and then went back to his drink. “We have a couple of double beds, and a handful of singles left,” the innkeeper said, glancing back up to Corrin again.

“Great,” said Xander with a snort, “We’ll take the lot.”

“I’ll give you the bulk discount,” the innkeeper said. “That’ll be eight-hundred gold a night. Meals are pay-as-you-go, and it’s another thirty-five for anyone who wants to bathe.”         

“Fine,” said Xander, fishing his coin purse out from beneath his gambeson.

“What shall I write in the ledger?” the innkeeper asked.

Something hard flashed in Corrin’s eyes. “The Key Dragons Mercenary Company."

The innkeeper nodded. “Will you all be needing soap and towels?”

“Please,” Xander said with a laugh. The innkeeper smiled, and disappeared into a back room.

"The Key Dragons, eh?” said the man at the end of the bar. “Never heard of you.”

"We’ve mostly worked out of Windmire,” Xander said, easily enough.

The old man snorted. “The war finally push you east, eh? Or was it the mad king, Garon?” Xander’s face hardened, and Corrin eyed him warily. “The stories I’ve heard out of Castle Krakenburg are enough to turn even a cast iron stomach.”

Three things then happened at once:

Xander took a step forward, Corrin grabbed at his arm to pull him back, and Kaze said, sharply, “Kagero, that’s enough.”

The old man suddenly sat up straight. “How did you know it was me?” he said, losing all the rough edges to his voice. “I thought I did pretty well, this time.”

The “old man” flipped down his hood to reveal a head of glossy, brown hair. In the firelight, one could begin to make out that the face was caked in makeup, and sitting up straight, the grey cloak fell in such a way that advertised its wearer was female.

Kaze smiled, but only faintly. “Your disguises have improved, but you’ve been hanging too much around my brother.” He shot her a reproving look, and added something in the Hoshidan language.

The “old man”—this woman, Kagero—bowed her head, chastised. She responded to Kaze also in Hoshidan, and then turned to face Xander and Corrin. “I will not apologize for the truth, but I will for the manner in which it was delivered.”

Corrin relaxed only slightly, and Xander remained tense, shoulders taut. “What rumors have you heard?” he asked, barely able to stop gritting his teeth to ask the question.

Kagero shifted in her seat, swishing beer about her tankard as she looked for a way to respond. “Well, the massacre at Cheve, for one thing.”

“If you don’t think we’re as furious at that incident as everyone else,” Corrin said hotly, “you haven’t been listening to the right rumors.”

Kagero smiled, thinly. “That’s the Corrin Lord Ryoma told me about.” When she glanced to Xander, her expression grew harder. “And what do you say, _prince?”_

“Hush,” he said, glancing sideways toward where the innkeeper had previously stood. “Though I’m not in the habit of disobeying my father’s orders, I can assure you, they would not be mine.”

Kagero studied him for another long moment. “I suppose that’s fair.”

-)

After a round of baths and the first hot meal in a while, the leadership of the newly-named Key Dragons gathered in the corner of the pub with tankards, while a freshly-bathed Kagero laid out the plan.

“Tomorrow, I will go with Kaze to exchange your armor with the local smithy,” she was saying. “I’ve already struck the deal with him; all he needs is the physical equipment.”

Xander nodded gravely, while Camilla said, “Excellent.”

“After that,” Kagero continued, “I will travel with you past the plains to the town of Hoshido to the town of Kimorano, where we will meet up with everyone else.”

“This all sounds too easy,” Camilla said.

“I quite agree.” Xander set his tankard back down on the table. “What aren’t you telling us?”

“Xander, be nice,” Corrin said, laying a hand on his forearm.

Kagero smiled ruefully. “You’re too trusting, Corrin. The Cr— _Xander_ is absolutely correct. I am hiding something.” Before Xander or Camilla could explode, Kagero held up both of her hands in a gesture for peace. “The easiest way to get there from here is to go through the Crescent Butchers’ territory.”

There was a large pause.

“You say that name as if we should know it,” Camilla said.

Kagero blinked a few times. “You mean… you don’t?”

All three royal siblings shook their heads no.

Kagero felt her knees buckle a little, and had to sit back down. “The Crescent Butchers are… where do I even begin?” The ninja seemed to be at a genuine loss.

“Why do they have such a name?” Xander asked.

“They don’t _have_ it,” Kagero said, “they _earned_ it.” She got to her feet again, and began to pace. “When I—well, I suppose, us all—were still quite young, the Crescent Mercenary Company went up the mountain to the Kitsune Hamlet.”

“Oh no,” slipped out of Corrin’s mouth.

“They had intended to simply pick off a few Kitsune and sell their fur for a hefty profit, but they had not intended on a battle.” She took a steadying swing of beer. “And a battle they had! They drove the Kitsune back further into the mountain pass, to the point that the creatures were forced to leave their dead behind or be slaughtered.

“When the battle was won, the Crescent Mercenary Company sliced the fur off all the fallen Kitsune with their wicked, crescent blades. They made their fortune in furs, and the people took to calling them butchers. The name stuck.”

Corrin appeared to be faintly green, and Camilla was reminded of the time Corrin had come upon the corpse of a dead rabbit once when she was a child. “Are these Kitsune anything like our Wolfskin?” Xander asked, brow furrowed deeply.

“I would imagine,” Kagero said. “But you see why I’m not thrilled with the idea of escorting you all through their territory.”

“It’s nothing we can’t handle, I’m sure,” said Camilla confidently.

Something flashed in Kagero’s deep, brown eyes. “I hope you’re right. Lady Hinoka would kill me if something happened to her sister.”

-)

Later that evening, as the company figured out who was sleeping in what bed (and with whom, in some cases), Xander pulled Kaze aside into the mahogany hallway, into the shadows of one of the wall sconces.

“My lord?” Kaze asked. Xander shot him a look, one eyebrow in his hairline, and Kaze visibly winced. “Apologies. Xander?”

“This Kagero,” Xander said, folding his arms across his torso, “do you trust her?”

Kaze immediately nodded. “With my life, my…” He cut himself off.

Xander couldn’t help but laugh. “It really is a habit, isn’t it?”

Kaze nodded. “Particularly for those whom I respect. But why do you ask about Kagero?”

Xander quickly relayed what the woman had told Corrin, Camilla, and himself. Kaze’s eyes grew wide in genuine horror as soon as the Crescent Butchers’ name was mentioned.

"She isn’t making that up, unfortunately,” Kaze confirmed. “Kimorano is only a few days’ ride from here, through the plains. Going around them would be far slower—though possibly safer.”

Xander’s brow furrowed. “Do you think eleven could handle them, should it come to a fight?”

Kaze actually paused for thought. For a long moment, he said nothing. But then, “Most likely. You and your younger sisters are absolute terrors on a battlefield, although…” He trailed off.

Xander’s smile was rueful. He knew what Kaze was too polite to say. “Although Camilla and I don’t have our mounts?” Kaze ducked his head, embarrassed. “Stand up straight, man; there’s no shame in strategy.”

“In that case,” Kaze said with a self-conscious laugh, “I would say you’ve nothing to worry from Odin, Laslow, or Beruka. Niles and Selena may give you a bit of trouble, not necessarily purposefully, and I remain concerned for Peri’s mental health, and her lack of horse.”

It wasn’t too far off from what Xander had concluded, and he wondered why Corrin didn’t bring this man to war meetings. A moment later, he could have struck himself as it came to him— _Out of respect. He’s Hoshidan._

 _"_ I’m inclined to agree,” Xander said quietly.

"Thank you, sir,” Kaze said. Xander could have laughed, but let the honorific slide. At least it was Nohrian. “Was there anything else you needed?”

Xander was about to dismiss him, but something else occurred to him. “What was it you said to Kagero earlier, in Hoshidan?”

“Oh, that.” Kaze shifted from foot to foot, embarrassed. “It’s an old Hoshidan saying. _Never wake a sleeping dragon.”_

 Xander couldn’t help but grin. “We Nohrians have something similar, did you know? Do not poke the sleeping bear.”


	14. Chapter 14

True to her word, Kagero left with Kaze the next morning, and the pair returned several hours later with a cartful of Hoshidan-style armor. They hauled the forged iron up to the biggest room the innkeeper’d had to let to the Key Dragons, and bundled the different sets into neat little piles of boots, bracers, and gods knew what else.

All eleven of them crowded into the tiny space. “Have at it,” Kagero said unceremoniously. “Kaze and I can help with the clasps.”

For some, the switch to Hoshidan armor was a simple and clean break from their usual. Despite the bell-like fur kilt and wide sleeves, the archer’s armor was as natural to Niles as anything else he could have worn, and quite simply, and Camilla felt far more at ease in the short dress and tall boots of the Hoshidan Kinshi knight than she would have as an armorless oni savage—or worse, in the _tatami_ armor of a samurai.

Said samurai armor felt strangely weightless on Corrin’s shoulders as she suited up, the sandals and coattails awkwardly exposing. Xander felt that the shield-like chestplate on his master-of-arms armor was uncomfortably open, but Kagero assured him—twice, in fact—that all was sitting properly. Also that this was about the thickest and most protective armor she could find.

Peri hummed her approval at the open kilt and shield-like chest plate of the spear fighter. “I think I like this.”

“As you say, Peri dear,” Laslow said. He and Selena were keeping their gambesons, mostly since the quilted, padded armor was, although very Nohrian, not likely to draw attention due to its inherent unremarkable-ness.

“It just feels freeing,” the cavalier said. “It’s fun to be in disguise!”

Both Laslow and Selena winced, and glanced to one another in a look decipherable only by Odin, had he been paying attention.

Instead, Odin was running his fingers across a set of samurai armor, feeling the _tatami_ and the molding of the chestplate with a strange sort of hollow aching in his chest. Though it had been years since he’d donned armor of any sort, given his newfound love of the tome and scroll, he still felt drawn to this Hoshidan armor that looked so very much like what he had once worn, in another world.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Xander said conversationally as Kagero checked the ties and clasps of his armor for the third time.

“It does seem utterly weightless, compared to a paladin’s armor,” Odin agreed cautiously.

“Is there something wrong with your diviners’ robes, Odin?” Kagero asked briskly as she moved over to help Beruka, who was struggling into the thin, white-and-red combat dress of a sky knight.

“No, no, they’re fine,” Odin said quickly, “I just…”

“You can’t possibly tell us you feel exposed in them,” Camilla said, fitting the halo-like headpiece of a Kinshi Knight onto her shoulders. “Your usual robes are far worse.” She winced as she turned her head and slammed her ear into one of the headpiece’s metal spokes. “This will take some getting used to,” she muttered, mostly to herself.

“You just what?” Xander asked, not unkindly.

Odin released the samurai armor, letting it fall back to the bed. “Nothing worthy of the ears of royalty.”

Behind him, Laslow was wearing a rueful smile, and Selena had folded her arms over her chest and looked to be in a bleaker mood than usual.

At once, Xander understood. “I see,” he said quietly. “If you feel more comfortable wearing armor, Odin, by all means.” He gestured aimlessly to the remaining piles of armor.

“With all due respect, Xander,” Odin said, gathering up the red robes and beak-like headpiece of a Hoshidan diviner, “have you ever seen a myrmidon casting spells?”

Xander blinked. “A what?”

_Shit,_ was Odin’s immediate thought. It was followed by, _Have I said too much?_

But Xander understood. “I know that look. I receive it frequently from Laslow. I’ll not press you.”

Odin breathed a visible sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“Just know,” Camilla said, the lightness in her voice at odds with the gravity in her words, “that you may not always have the luxury of remaining silent about such things, Odin.”

A shadow fell across the blond man’s face. “We know, Camilla. We know.”

-)

Two days after that, the Key Dragons—plus Kagero—set out for the plains of Hoshido. The rolling flatlands were nothing like the snow-capped mountains and winding rivers of Nohr, but privately, most of the Nohrians could admit to their beauty. The lush greenery was nothing like the twisted, black trees of the Nohrian steppes, and setting camp at night was as easy as picking a grassy knoll.

“Four days we’ve been out here,” Xander said to Camilla later that week, “and we’ve yet to see a single living soul.”

“It _is_ a tad disconcerting,” Camilla agreed, her eyes once again sweeping the plains for movement. Their party was continuing to press forward, groups of twos and threes broken off into conversations. Kaze and Kagero in particular were thrilled to be chatting with one another in Hoshidan, it sounded like. “Perhaps Kagero’s fears were unfounded?”

“I doubt that,” Xander said.

“She _did_ seem too unnerved to be making something up.”

Camilla studied the _kunoichi_ for a moment. Kagero seemed as devoted to Lord Ryoma as Selena and Beruka were to her, and from all Corrin had said of her “other” older brother, he was nothing if not honorable.

There were stories, of course, of Hoshidan samurai that had reached even the walls of Castle Krakenburg. When Leo had been little, he had loved to hear stories of the noble knights of either country. When their father had discovered him listening Hoshidan tales, he’d soundly boxed Leo’s ears and sent him to bed without supper for a month, to say nothing of what befell Leo’s poor tutor. Camilla could still hear Garon’s fury ringing in her ears:

"No child of mine will listen to such filth!”

But from all her (granted, limited) interactions with Hoshidans, “filth” was not the word she’d use to describe them. Kaze was the perfect gentleman, and if she were in Kagero’s place, she might have pressed for information in much the same manner. After all, though there were no similarly horrifying rumors coming out of Castle Shirasagi.

“Agreed,” Xander said to his little sister. “Beyond her own unease, Kagero idolizes her liege too much to do something so obvious to shame him.”

Meanwhile, at the head of the pack, Corrin was deep in conversation with Odin and Laslow.

“I’m simply saying, milady,” Odin began, “that your spellcasting lacks a certain… _dramatic flair.”_ He gestured theatrically in the same way he shot fire from the ends of his fingers.

Corrin laughed, covering her mouth with her hand like a proper noble-born lady. “I think I’ll leave the dramatic version to you, Odin,” she said. “I simply haven’t the grace for it.”

“Come now, my lady,” Laslow coaxed. “Surely you can humor him? He’ll never shut up, otherwise.”

“Hey!” Odin said as Corrin began to laugh harder.

“It’s true!” Selena called up from where she had been speaking with Beruka, who was looking very pale in the early afternoon sunlight and shifted uncomfortably in her sky knight’s armor (such as it was).

“You were not asked!” Odin called back.

Selena stuck her tongue out at him, then turned back to Beruka.

“Will you help me, or not?” Beruka asked, her voice hushed.

As Odin, Laslow, and Corrin continued their conversation up ahead, Selena’s demeanor softened, just a hair. “Of course,” she said quietly. “When we get back to the astral plane, I’ll take you into town. We’ll look for a cradle, and baby clothes, and anything else you might need.”

Selena wouldn’t have deemed it possible a moment ago, but Beruka seemed to turn _even paler_ than she had previously. Selena followed the woman’s line of sight to where Niles was pacing at the edge of the group, alone.

“I know feelings aren’t really your thing,” Selena began, “but here’s a question for you—do you think you’re ready? Either of you?”

“No,” said Beruka. “But we don’t have the luxury of failure.”

Up ahead, something caught Corrin’s eye. “Laslow, Odin,” she said hurriedly, “attend.”

Instantly, their demeanor shifted. One of Laslow’s hands went to his blade, the movement fluid and instantaneous. Odin drew his grimoire from within the confines of his (much less flamboyant) cloak, expression turning grim. A half second later, Xander and Camilla were at the head of the formation. The former already had Siegfried at the ready, although the latter was slightly more levelheaded and her steel axe remained at her side.

“What is it?” Xander asked sharply. “What’s happened?”

Corrin nodded forward, soundlessly drawing her Yato.

Xander followed her line of sight up the road, up to a shadowy figure about a hundred yards off. He squinted, hoping to catch a better glimpse of whatever it was, but his sight grew no clearer.

“Are we certain this is, in fact, dangerous?” Niles drawled from somewhere to their collective right.

“Excellent point,” Xander said, although it sounded as though it had been dragged out of him with a rusty lance. He gingerly sheathed Siegfried back at his side. “There’s no sense in jumping at ghosts.”

There was some grumbling as everyone else put away their weapons, particularly from Peri. It had been a while since the group had run into any real action, and the strain of being battle-ready but stilling their blades was beginning to wear on everyone.

As the group hiked further up the path, the shadowy figure revealed itself to be a withered old man, lumbering down the path with a small boy—likely a grandson—buzzing about him. Xander huffed a sigh of relief for—of all people—Niles’ wisdom.

“Nice day, eh?” the old man asked as the group passed him. “This summer has been sweltering!”

“Yes, there is a lovely breeze,” Corrin agreed with a small laugh. Camilla and Xander both eyed the old man warily.

“Grandfather,” the little boy said, tugging at the old man’s sleeve, “can we stop by the confectionary on the way home?”

The old man chuckled. “I don’t see why not. Just don’t tell your mother.”

“I won’t!” the little boy promised, taking off ahead again.

“Will he be all right?” Corrin asked the old man, brow furrowing.

“Oh, he does this all the time,” the old man said dismissively. “He’ll be back in a moment.” Sure enough, the little boy ran back down the hill, giggling and nearly bowling over his grandfather. “He just can’t stand still, the little rascal.”

“So where are you heading?” Camilla asked politely.

“Oh, we’re headed back to Yahaba,” the old man said.

“That’s a far journey for one so advanced in years,” Kagero put forward lightly, having appeared with practically no warning, as usual.

“Oh, I’m young yet,” the old man protested, pounding his breast a few times. He coughed a moment later.

Xander’s eyes narrowed. _Something isn’t right._ It was in the air, maybe, or in the wholesomeness of the old man and his grandson. Xander’s stomach coiled with anxiety, and he glanced over to Camilla. The elder princess, however, was not looking at him, and instead was engaged in polite conversation. Damn her manners!

“Where are you headed, then?” the old man asked.

“Tawadaka,” Kaze said, with such airy conviction Xander almost believed him. “The nobles there have hired us on.”

“Oh, a mercenary group,” the grandfather said. “Juro, did you hear that?”

“Yes, grandfather.” The little boy’s eyes grew wide.

“What have I told you of mercenary groups?”

The little boy smiled in such a way that small children should not. “They make the funnest targets!”

“ _To arms!”_ Xander shouted, just as the rest of the Crescent Butchers descended from the trees.


	15. Chapter 15

The Crescent Butchers descended all at once.

The Key Dragons immediately drew their weapons and snapped into well-practiced battle pairs. Despite the Hoshidan armor, their training was all Nohrian, and anyone with any military training would see that. Xander, however, couldn’t quite find it in him at the moment to be concerned with the glaring hole in the plan he just discovered.

Niles and Odin fell back, the former raining arrows and the latter, fire. Xander pressed forward, immediately crossing blades with the nearest swordsman and nearly tripping of the edge of the master-of-arms robe, whereas Camilla’s axe had already taken a chunk of a lance-wielder’s skull before the man even had the sense to raise his weapon.

Corrin drew her Yato and pressed herself to Peri’s back, the two women covering for each other’s weakness in the melee. As Corrin crossed blades with a particularly ugly thug whose bloodthirsty grin appeared to be missing a few teeth, Peri jabbed at the man’s ribs with her trusty steel lance, piercing right through his hide armor and earning herself a splattering of blood. The cavalier grinned, drinking in the sight of crimson splashed across her gambeson.

Laslow, meanwhile, had attached himself to Camilla. Unfortunately for him, having a shield-sister didn’t end up mattering. Laslow launched himself at the neck of a lance-wielder, hoping to get under and around his guard before the man could skewer him.

He was a hair too slow.

Laslow’s cry of pain was all but silenced by the man’s subsequent scream, and Laslow retreated back behind Camilla’s trusty axe-arm, bleeding from a gouge in his armor across the ribs on his right side. His grin became all that much more pronounced, his flourishes, that much more extravagant, as he continued to fight.

Kaze appeared from the shadows to slice at various enemies’ exposed joints and throats, and then disappeared from whence he came. But Kagero took a far less subtle approach, simply darting between enemies, hurling shuriken as she went. Her jaw was set in a stubborn grimace, as though she were valiantly trying not to say “I told you so!” to everyone in earshot.

Xander swung Siegfried in wide, sweeping arcs, and the blade crunched into armor and bone alike. Beruka and Selena, meanwhile, guarded each other’s backs in a familiar, practiced way. Even without her wyvern, and even while wearing so little armor, Beruka was an absolute terror—though frequently annoyed to lose a kill to a well-placed arrow. She took no pleasure in ending a man’s life, but _did_ pride herself on a job well done.

It was a dogfight, sure, but nothing the Key Dragons (and their component parts) had never experienced before. Bandits were common in Nohr and Hoshido alike, especially in wartime. They could handle this. This was

That is, until the berserker arrived.

The man reminded Corrin vaguely of Hans, the bald-headed, bloodthirsty knight in King Garon’s employ. The berserker was also balding, and his face appeared to be hewn from rock, like a stoneborn. A wicked-looking axe rested between his hands.

“Son of a bitch,” Kagero hissed, “it’s Sanjiro.”

This berserker, Sanjiro, immediately went for Peri. She caught his axe, but only just. She winced at the resounding crack, and for a moment, was convinced he’d broken clean through her lance. Corrin attempted to catch the next blow with the Yato, but instead of the clang of metal-on-metal, there came the wet crunch of metal-on-broken-armor. Corrin fell to the ground, spluttering and gasping for breath.

Xander immediately fell upon them—or tried to, anyway. Sanjiro’s men pushed him back, kept him drowning in blows. An archer scurried up to the top of a nearby tree, sending Beruka and Camilla instinctively scrambling for cover. In the absence of her fellow retainer, Selena snapped to Laslow’s side, and the two mercenaries rosined up their blades as the battle shifted.

“Does this remind you of—?”

“Laslow, I will _pay you_ to shut up!”

From his rear positioning, Niles nocked yet another arrow. His quiver was running low; he had to make this shot count. He narrowed his good eye, taking aim at the archer who was raining arrows on his comrades from the treetop. Kaze was already staggering in and out of the shadows, an arrow lodged in his thigh. Kagero had stepped protectively in front of him, shifting her hold on her shuriken to take a defensive stance.

Laslow was heaving, now, his smile strained, and Selena’s ferocity was waning. One of the remaining lancers zeroed in on their position, and Odin immediately lashed out with a healthy dosage of power. It rumbled up from the earth, coursing through his aching blood like water breaking through a dam. Then it flashed off the tips of his fingers like miniature lightning.

The bolt went wide, smashing into a tree that smoked dangerously around the edges of its leaves, and the lancer landed another glancing blow on Laslow’s shredded gambeson. Selena managed to shank the man back, but the damage was already done. Laslow dropped to his knees, and Selena was forced to step in front to cover him, as Kagero was already covering Kaze.

_Steady,_ Niles thought to himself, _steady._ He needed the opportune moment to land an arrow in the other archer’s eye, hopefully when she wasn’t looking this way. So long as Odin could cover his lack of volley, they might have a chance.

A cry went up from somewhere to Niles’ left, and he chanced a glance over for just a second. What he saw made his good eye snap open, and his stomach drop all the way to the depths of the Void. Beruka had taken an arrow to the side, and Camilla was frantically tearing shreds off her own undershirt to staunch the bleeding.

Niles cursed the counter-archer, her ancestors, her theoretical progeny, and these damned Crescent Butchers with every vile oath he knew. He took aim at the woman again, and in his fury, the shot went wide.

A moment later, Niles was rewarded for his sloppy handiwork with an arrow that pierced clean through his arm. He loosed a strangled cry, and Odin seamlessly stepped in front of him.

Magic crackled in the air around him as the blond man drew on the ancient power. Even Niles, who had no magical talent to speak of, felt the earth rumble and the heavens cry out as Odin unleashed raw energy with a spell from his personal grimoire, open in his left hand.

_“Eldritch smackdown!”_ Odin roared.

The bolt struck true, and the archer fell from the tree, her bow scorched to cinders and her face unrecognizable.

Odin’s face was set in hard lines as he whirled on the lancer still harassing his friends. Selena was doing a valiant job of holding him off, but she was bleeding from a myriad of cuts and gouges, and her sword was held at an angle that clearly pained her. From his position on the ground, Laslow had resorted to tossing dirt in the man’s face and looking around for particularly sharp rocks.

Odin stalked forward with single-minded focus, pulling magic along with him. “By my fell hand,” he snarled, twisting the aforementioned appendage before him, “and my aching blood, _you shall not have them!”_

The spell went wide, crashing into the axe-wielder who had been harassing Xander (not that the prince was complaining), and Selena took advantage of the momentary distraction to slip the tip of her sword beneath the lancer’s chin and thrust it through the man’s skull.

“Thanks for the distraction,” she said to Odin breathlessly.

Odin sighed. “Here to help.”

Together they hauled Laslow to his feet. Selena looped an arm around him, leaving her sword hand free, and Odin looped an arm around Laslow’s other side, leaving him free to cast spells. Laslow winced as they both jarred his injuries, but sure as Grima’s fury, his friends dragged him off the battlefield.

Freed from combat, Xander pressed forward to where that son of a bitch Sanjiro had gotten to Corrin. Peri was locked in a defensive stance, her mismatched eyes wide in dismay. She countered the man’s axe as best she could while positioned defensively over Corrin’s prone body—which was to say, not very well at all.

“Peri!” Xander shouted over the crash of metal-on-metal. “Attend!”

“Lord Xander!” she cried, her voice even hoarser than usual. “She isn’t moving!”

Xander’s eyes widened, just for a fraction of second, but it was enough. Sanjiro looked to Corrin, and then loosed a horrible laugh that sounded maniacal even to Peri’s ears. And then he fell upon Peri again.

Xander moved to guard her flank, and felt himself yanked back by someone of truly prodigious strength. The brute yanked him off his feet in a bastardized headlock, and Peri immediately whirled to face the new attacker. Covered in blood and reveling in combat, Peri grinned like Laslow did, Xander couldn’t help but notice.

But he also noticed something else.

“ _Peri,”_ Xander barked, _“your flank!”_

The berserker’s axe smashed into Peri’s borrowed chestplate with all the force the man could muster, and her knees threatened to give way beneath her. Her eyes were streaming tears, but she still drove forward, thrusting her lance into man holding Xander back, missing her liege’s ribs by a very calculated inch.

There came a howling from behind Xander, and then he was unceremoniously dropped. He hit the ground hard, and the shock threatened to buckle him, but Xander forced himself to move, to pivot and bring Siegfried up and around. The black blade sliced clean through his assailant, and the man fell away, crying out in shock.

Xander whirled on Sanjiro just in time to catch an axe to the ribs. He doubled over, unable to catch his breath. It was miracle none of his ribs had broken; Xander supposed this Hoshidan armor was tougher than it looked. He reached out, and caught hold of Peri’s unarmored shoulder before they both went toppling into the dirt.

“Lord… Xander,” Peri managed. “Your sister.”

Xander blinked a few times, trying to clear the spots from his vision. His breathing was too shallow to call out, but he managed to catch of a glimpse of Sanjiro throwing Corrin’s limp form over his shoulder and calling for his men to retreat.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely, y'all over here are catching up with ff.net

“ _How could you let this happen!”_ Xander thundered. He was still a bit wheezy from the earlier blow to the ribs, but what he lacked in breath support, he made up for in anger. “You were her battle partner! You were meant to keep her _safe.”_

Peri was visibly quaking in her borrowed boots, her lower lip wobbling and tears framing the edges of her vision. She had done her best, but the man had had an axe! Lances were no good against axes! Everyone knew that, especially Lord Xander. But the Crown Prince accepted no excuses, and so she remained silent.

“Corrin was counting on you,” Xander continued furiously, “and you _let her down.”_

Peri continued to stare at her boots.

“And now we have no idea where she is, for what purpose, or _with whom,_ so just what do you have to say for yourself, Peri?”

“Xander, that is _enough!”_

Both Xander and Peri froze as Laslow limped into their little conversation circle. “Laslow,” Peri mumbled, “you shouldn’t be standing.”

“She is right,” Xander said sternly, folding his arms across his broad chest. “And you are not a part of this conversation.”

“I’ll live.” Laslow shot his Lord a look that asked ‘are you daft?’ without the requisite words. “And Xander, your issue isn’t with Peri.”

“Like hell it is!” Xander shouted. “Peri was her shield-sister! She should have _protected her;_ should have been there; should have done a lot of things! I can’t—” Xander cut himself off, and Laslow cocked an eyebrow. “Dammit,” Xander muttered, rubbing his forehead as if to quell a migraine.

Peri mouthed, “Thank you.” to Laslow, who made a show of brushing her off to hide just how red his face had become.

“Sit _down,_ Laslow,” Xander barked.

Laslow pointedly lowered himself onto a rotted log. “So,” he drawled, “what are we going to do about it?”

“Good question.” Xander seated himself on the log beside Laslow, still rubbing his forehead.

When she didn’t follow their lead, both men glanced up to their third. Peri was still visibly uncomfortable, scuffing her boots in the sand and not looking at either of them.

Xander sighed. He forgot, sometimes, just how young Peri could be. “Peri, I apologize for yelling. It was… unkind of me, nor was it true.”

“He’s just frustrated, Peri dear,” Laslow added with a wink.

Xander threw up his hands, and Peri giggled before taking a seat in the dirt across from the boys. “Would Kagero know where they’ve gone?” she asked.

“It’s likely.” Xander worried the cuffs of his sleeves in thought. “Unfortunately, she’s not here at the moment. We sent her off to get a medic—preferably before Beruka bleeds out.”

“Have you seen Niles?” Peri asked, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “He hasn’t left her side since the fight ended, not even when Odin snapped the arrow shaft off.”

Xander glanced over to where Beruka lay. She was even paler than usual, her hands pressed against the wound in her side in an (admittedly rather futile) attempt to stop the bleeding. Niles was close beside her, speaking to her in a low, soothing tone.

Xander didn’t have a head for gossip; he was too busy keeping an army together. “Are the rumors about them true?”

“So far as we know,” Laslow confirmed.

"Hmm.” Xander studied the assassin and the outlaw for another moment. There was something unreadable in Niles’ expression—something softer, somehow—and even with as much excruciating pain she had to be in, Beruka did not keep her distance from him the way she did with everyone else. “I wonder why neither has approached Camilla or Leo for permission to marry?”

"He hasn’t asked,” Laslow said.

"And she’s mad,” Peri added.

Xander snorted. “If I were him, I would certainly fear her wrath.” Had he not been the Crown Prince, he might have shuddered at the very idea.

“If Kagero turns out to be a dead end,” Laslow said, wincing as he shifted his weight and jostled his ribs, “I do believe Niles is a tracker. He might be able to locate Lady Corrin.”

“Gods, I hope so.” Xander pressed his head into his hands with another sigh. “This is all my fault.”

“Oh, Lord Xander, don’t say that,” Peri said, patting his knee affectionately. “You did the best you could.”

The color drained from Xander’s face. “That’s why they took her.”

“I beg your pardon?” Laslow said.

“Peri called me ‘Lord,’ on the battlefield.” Xander’s mind was racing. “They knew my…” He coughed. “That Corrin had to be important to me.”

A breeze stirred their hair and the collar of Laslow’s trusty gambeson, pushing a few fallen leaves across the dirt path. It should have felt clean, but Xander could only shiver. Laslow winced as he moved again, irritating his injuries, and Peri pressed a hand to her tender side. There was bruising, but she would heal.

“We need Kagero,” she said quietly, “and soon.”

“I just hope we can trust her,” Xander said.

-)

Kagero’s lungs burned. She had been running all the way from the site of their battle, and was not about to rest. Night was quickly falling, and if she didn’t find help soon…

_No._

Kagero shook her head. _I refuse to think about it._ She owed Kaze far too much to let him die at the hands of the Crescent Butchers, and she would not dishonor the faith placed in her by the Nohrians and Lady Corrin with failure.

She came across a sleepy little village town just beginning to shutter all its doors for the night. After a few wrong turns, she burst through the doors of a local tavern, and found herself to be the center of attention. She drew breath in great, heaving gasps, hands on her knees.

"Dawn Dragon be merciful,” the innkeeper said, coming over to her. “What happened to you, girl?”

"Ambush,” Kagero managed to get out. “My friends are injured. Need a healer.”

"Girl,” said a ragged-looking man who could hardly have been older than she, “was it the Crescent Butchers?”

Kagero was too out of breath to be annoyed. She nodded several times, hoping the urgency would properly come across.

"Damn those bastards,” said another man, pounding a fist into his open palm.

“Your friends are lost, friend,” said a woman who also looked incredibly ragged. “No one will leave the village after dark, least of all the Priestesses. They hardly ever leaves the temple.”           

“Which temple?” Kagero asked at once.

The woman blinked. “Were you not just listening?”

Kagero’s eyes narrowed. “Which. Temple?”

The woman rolled her eyes. “The northern one, near the edge of town.” Kagero began to move. “But you’re wasting your time!

Kagero stopped in the doorframe—“I’ll be the judge of that.”—and was running once more.

After several more wrong turns (honestly, Kagero was starting to become a little ashamed of her lack of direction), she arrived at the northernmost temple, only to discover that the gates had already been shut for the night.

“Dammit,” Kagero hissed, slamming her hand down on her bruised thigh.

The smack echoed throughout the thoroughfare, and then silence reigned.

" _Priestesses!”_ Kagero shouted, pounding on the wooden gate. “I call upon your aid!”

The temple remained still and dark for so long Kagero debated raising her fist again. Just as she was about to knock, a panel set at eye height shifted open. A pair of tired, old eyes met Kagero’s fiercely determined ones.

"The temple is closed, child,” said a woman’s voice. “Come back tomorrow if you wish to pray.” She began to slide the door shut again.

Kagero jammed her fist into the panel, heedless of splinters. “My friends and I were ambushed on the road. Please, we need a healer!”

The woman sighed. “We simply cannot help everyone stupid enough to walk the Crescent Butchers’ territory after dark. Come back tomorrow.” She shoved Kagero’s hand out of the panel, and shut the door firmly.

Kagero huffed. “Their blood is on your hands!”

No one answered.

 _They could have at least pointed me toward someone who would help,_ Kagero thought sourly as she began to hike back up the road. She was so wrapped up in trying to find a solution that she didn’t notice the shadowy figure coming toward her until she was nearly set upon.

Instinctively, Kagero shrank back, hands going to the daggers hidden in her sleeves. The figure raised its hands and Kagero tensed, ready for a fight—but it only threw back its hood, revealing an elderly woman with a severe haircut.

“Did the sisters give you trouble?” she asked in a voice as warm and worn as a beloved winter blanket.

“Do they usually?”

The old woman nodded. “Almost without fail. What did you need from them?”

Kagero sighed. “My friends and I were ambushed on the road. We need a healer—badly. Do you know of—”

“Lead the way,” interrupted the old woman, shifting something beneath her traveling cloak.

Kagero blinked a few times. “I beg your pardon?”

The woman’s cloak fell open, revealing a bloom festal she was using as a cane. “I am Nara, formerly Priestess. Now, lead the way.”

-)

"Thank the gods,” Camilla said when Kagero reappeared in the camp (such as it was) with the old priestess in tow. “Beruka hasn’t stopped bleeding since you left.” The princess turned to the priestess. “What do you need to work?”

 "Hot water and rags,” said Nara. “Sake, if you have it.”

“Er.” Camilla pulled up short. “Someone might have some whiskey?”

“Good enough,” said the priestess, rolling up her sleeves. “Who needs healing?”

"Beruka,” Camilla said at once. “She’s over at the tree.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “I’ll round up rags and water.”

 Nara nodded, pulling the boom festal to casting level. “You have my thanks.”

Beruka lay against the trunk of a sturdy oak tree. Her breathing was labored and her grey-violet eyes were unfocused. Niles held her hand in a death grip, heedless of the arrowhead in his arm. He looked as though he’d seen a ghost.

Nara knelt in front of Beruka. “Easy, my child.” She placed her hand over Niles’, and squeezed. “You have done well.”

Niles started and reached for his bow, only to snarl in pain when he moved his wounded arm. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

"I am healing her,” Nara said simply. “Easy, now; I will help you, as well.”

She began to channel magic through the festal, drawing upon the latent magic in the air, leftover from battle. The energy thrummed through the healing rod, and although it didn’t crackle like Odin’s lightning, Niles could feel its power just the same. Maybe he ought to take up the healing arts, if only to avoid ever feeling so utterly useless again.

As the old priestess channeled magic into Beruka’s side, the assassin began to relax, if only slightly. Her breathing became easier, and the blood trickled to a blessed stop. Niles watched, mesmerized, as skin began to knit back together of its own accord.

"That’s amazing,” Niles whispered.

All at once, the magic stopped. “I am but half finished.” Nara glanced over her shoulder. “Who was that woman who spoke with me when I arrived?”

“Pr, err,” Niles said, “Camilla, probably. You’re talking about the woman with the braid, right?”

The priestess nodded, seemingly oblivious to Niles’ near slip-up. “Yes, she with the great sadness about her.”

Niles quirked a smile despite himself. “Yeah, Camilla. She should be speaking with her brother about now.”

“Who is…?”

“Him,” Niles said, just as Xander arrived carrying several tin mugs full of hot water and some rags thrown over his forearm.

“Camilla mentioned you needed these?” He was the picture of alert ease, as though he hadn’t been yelling at his retainer an hour previously.

"Yes, child.” The priestess took the steaming mugs from him, and bade him to sit down. “I’ll need both of you boys to hold her down. She may thrash.”

Xander glanced to Niles, who had gone pale from both blood loss and the news. The Crown Prince of Nohr positioned himself over Beruka’s uninjured side, pressing down on her upper thigh and arm with all the strength in his armored frame. On her other side, the Outlaw held fast in much the same fashion. They both looked to Nara, who nodded.

She dipped one of the rags Xander had brought in the hot water and set about cleaning the wound on Beruka’s side. Bit by bit, the arrowhead became visible, the small chunk of steel lodged in the assassin’s side. Her eyes jerked opened once or twice, bleary and unfocused, and Xander was almost beginning to feel like his presence was unnecessary.

Then the priestess wrapped the rag around the arrow and began to pull.

Beruka loosed a bloodcurdling howl and immediately thrashed, nearly throwing Niles and Xander off in the process. The two men held her down with twice the conviction, and the priestess shifted her grip to the broken half of the shaft still attached to the arrowhead. Beruka tried to twist away from the pain, but couldn’t gain the leeway.

And then, with a horrible squelching noise, the arrowhead and broken shaft came free. The priestess threw it aside in the dirt, disgusted by the instrument of war. “Is there alcohol?” she asked briskly.

“‘Course,” Niles said hoarsely. He yanked at his knapsack with his good arm, and went rummaging about for a moment before pulling a silver flask out of from the bowels of his bag.

Nara unscrewed the top of the flask and sniffed delicately at the rim. She immediately winced—“It will do.”—and proceeded to drip whiskey onto Beruka’s wound.

The assassin howled in pain, and made her most violent flailing yet. Xander caught an elbow to the chin, and pain exploded in his mouth. He spat blood into the dirt a few times, and Niles winced sympathetically.

Beruka grew still as the old priestess bandaged her side. “Change the dressings daily, and get her to a shrine maiden immediately if she shows signs of infection.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Xander said with a nod.

The priestess eyed him oddly for a moment, and then removed her hands from Beruka’s side. “This woman is lucky the arrow caught her in the ribs, instead of the lungs.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her,” Niles said, glancing to Beruka with undisguised fondness. Xander couldn’t help but feel that he’d stumbled upon something intensely private.

“Now,” said the priestess, rocking back onto her heels, “besides this man, who else needs seen to?”

-)

As Nara saw to the injured, Xander caught up to a certain ninja. “Kagero,” he began in a tone that booked no room for argument, “a word?”

She inclined her head, but only slightly. “Lord Xander.”

Xander glanced over his shoulder to make sure that no one—particularly his sister—was within earshot. “You know this land better than any of us,” he said carefully. “Where would the Butchers have taken Corrin?”

Kagero pursed her lips. “None of the answers are good,” she warned.

"They will be worse if I do not go after her.”

Kagero smiled, but only just. Perhaps these Nohrians did have souls, after all. “There are a few options. Either they took her to their nearby camp to do exactly the sort of thing that would ruin a noblewoman’s reputation.”

Xander blanched even further than Niles had during Beruka’s arrow extraction. “Or?”

“Or they took her to their fort up in the mountains—or are in the process, anyway—to hold her for ransom.”

Xander stomach was rolling in acid, and he fought the urge to vomit. “Which is more likely?”

“Depends if they know who she is.”

Xander couldn’t help but glance over to where Peri was napping on Laslow’s shoulder. The dancer appeared not to notice her, and was deep in thoughtful conversation with Odin, who was gesticulating wildly as he spoke. “Peri called me ‘Lord,’ in front of that berserker, Sanjiro, while I was coming to her and Corrin’s aid.”

Understanding glittered in Kagero’s eyes. “Then take heart; she’s likely being held for ransom.”

"Forgive me if I don’t. Can you tell me how to reach their fort, then?”

“Better,” said Kagero, “I’ll show you. Round up whomever you trust and meet me at the edge of the camp.” Xander nodded, and she disappeared seamlessly into the shadows.

Despite his exhaustion, despite his injuries, despite his seething fury, Xander knew that the further he delayed, the worse the likely outcome. He rounded on Peri and Laslow, and Odin knew from the look in his eye that this conversation was meant for a Lord and his retainers, and took his leave.

“I won’t order you,” Xander said as Peri shook off her exhaustion, and Laslow wincingly drew himself upright, “but I’m going after my little princess, and I would appreciate the help.”

“You got it, Lord Xander.” Peri immediately got to her feet and plucked her lance from where it was leaning against a nearby tree.

“Stop staring at me,” Laslow mumbled, cheeks flaring red, “of course I’m coming with you.”

Xander felt a surge of affection for his occasionally wayward retainers, but it was not enough to quell the rising fear in his gut. All he could manage was a quick nod. “Gather your things.”

An unusually shrill voice sounded from behind: “You aren’t going after her, are you?”

Xander caught Camilla just before she burst into tears. “Of course I am.” He refused to let Camilla’s emotional display rattle him. “We certainly aren’t leaving her in the hands of those monsters.”

“I know, I know.” Camilla squeezed her older brother tightly, in a way she hadn’t since she was small—partly because of decorum, and partly because the distance Xander so carefully cultivated between himself and the rest of the world. “I just don’t know what I’d do if I lost you both.”

“Camilla,” Xander said firmly, awkwardly patting her head around the kinshi headpiece. “You aren’t losing either of us. I won’t allow it.”

Camilla glanced back up at him, a watery smile forming across her face. “I’ll hold you to that, you know.”

“As it should be.”

Camilla squeezed him once more and then let go. “I’m coming with you,” she said, brushing tears out of her eyes.

“Out of the question,” Xander said at once.

"Don’t you throw that at me! Corrin is my little sister as much as she is yours, and I will not be left behind.”

Xander had to allay her before Camilla dug her heels in. “Camilla, see reason. Who will watch over the wounded if you and I are both gone?”

Camilla glanced about, taking mental stock of the wounded— _Beruka, Niles, Kaze, Selena_ —and those leaving— _Xander, Peri, Laslow._ “Odin,” she said.

“Odin,” Xander repeated, an eyebrow in his hairline.

Camilla sighed, defeated. “Fine. Your orders?”

“Watch over our friends, here, and pray that Corrin was lucky.”


	17. Chapter 17

It was near daybreak when Kagero finally pulled their little hunting party to a grinding halt. She hadn’t let up her pace all evening, and Laslow’s side was screaming. Peri kept wincing and putting her hand to her back, where she’d caught the axe, and despite his myriad bruises and slashes, Xander pressed stoically on.

"The fort should be just over this hill,” Kagero said to the three quietly. “But this is as far as I go.”

"And you found it just like that…” Laslow snapped his fingers. “…eh?”

Xander folded his arms across his chest. “I had the same notion.”

Peri tilted her head to examine the ninja in their midst. “You know them, don’t you?”

Kagero sighed, and leaned up against a tree. She looked every inch as exhausted as she felt, and she knew that Laslow and Peri weren’t doing much better. She could have handled the two of them, but with their Lord involved?

Kagero was no fool; she knew when she was outmatched.

"I know Sanjiro,” she corrected. “Or did, anyway. He was once a Chiyome ninja but that…” She shuddered. “Was a long time ago.”

Peri’s jaw fell open. “That axe-crazy man is a _ninja?”_

"Was.” Kagero sighed. “The twins’ clan have their demon in Kotaro, mine has Sanjiro. And like Saizo, I’ve never been able to take it out.” She sounded so very bitter.

Though Xander had originally intended he and his retainers to go alone, he was not heartless. “You could come with us, you know.”

Kagero shook her head. “I’ll only disgrace myself. I’m in no state to fight.”

"Well, then,” Laslow said with as jaunty a grin as he could muster. “Allow us to do the honors.”

Kagero smiled humorlessly and glanced to Xander and Peri. “Is he always like this?”

"Usually it’s worse,” Peri said. “He hasn’t called you pretty once.”

"Oh, that reminds me,” Laslow said, “Kagero—you incredibly capable and stunning woman, you—would you allow me to take you out to tea, just the two of us, as a thank you?”

"Decidedly not,” Kagero said, “but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Laslow nodded, the answer nothing unexpected, but Xander snorted so deeply he had to set about for a handkerchief. Peri giggled, and Kagero said, “Well, it’s good to see some life in you after all, Prince Xander. I was beginning to think you were always stern as a Nohrian winter, I believe the saying goes?”

"I am,” the Crown Prince insisted, stowing the handkerchief away in the depths of his damnable Hoshidan robe-armor. “Now, is there anything you can tell us about the fort?”

"Other than you’re likely to find Corrin the cellar below the main hall? Nothing, really. I’ve only ever been in as far as the foyer, and that was only once.”

"Why?” Peri asked.

Kagero smiled thinly. “An ill-advised attempt to get Sanjiro to see reason.”

"Will there be guards?” Laslow asked, already thinking of his aching side.

“Dozens,” Kagero assured him. “I wish you all the luck in the kingdoms.”

"We don’t need luck,” Peri said. “We have Lord Xander.”

-)

Xander, Peri, and Laslow lay on their bellies just beneath the final rise of the hill before the fort in an effort to remain out of sight.

The fort itself was built in the classical Hoshidan design, with high perimeter walls but relatively few buildings and a lot of levee walls. There would be nowhere to hide once they were seen, that much was clear, and there would be a lot of corners to theoretically be backed into. Also a lot of walls upon which archers could be stationed.

Laslow sighed. “Well, they certainly aren’t making it easy on us.”

“Corrin owes us big for this,” Peri huffed.

"Hush,” said Xander. “You’ll have your fill of blood before this night is through.”

Peri glanced to Laslow, who translated, “You’ll get to kill things, Peri my dear.”

Peri giggled in the way that struck Xander to his core, hoarse and full of menace. It was difficult to reconcile the bubbly, childlike woman with her incredible bloodlust, sometimes.

"Are we waiting for something?” Laslow whispered.

Xander hauled himself up to his elbows to look over the ridge. A quick scan of the terrain told him that a few Crescent Butchers were playing dice near the main gate, and that there were few torches still lit at this time of near-morning.

He crawled back to lay flush with the hill line and his retainers. “No.”

Xander held up three unadorned fingers, and both Laslow and Peri tensed. He pulled one down, and the others, and then all three of them vaulted to their feet and took off in dead sprints. They drew their weapons in smooth, practiced motions. The men at the gate never even saw what hit them. Xander, Laslow, and Peri left the men’s blood-splattered dice in the dirt, ivory gleaming faintly in the early-morning light.

They pressed forward, whipping around the corners of levees to maximize the impact of their blades. Laslow and Peri stuck close together, covering each other’s backs, and, in Peri’s case, for Laslow’s wounded side. Xander needed no aid, but instead smashed into anything in his path with the fury of a Nohrian blizzard.

"We need—” Xander paused to pivot around an enemy sword, and quickly adjusted his footing to jam Siegfried up through the man’s gut. “—a damn floor plan.”

“We have to be getting close to the main entrance,” Laslow managed between ragged breaths.

Peri only nodded, smashing the butt of her lance into a spear fighter’s nose. The resounding crunch announced she’d broken it, and the man dribbled blood onto his collar. Peri’s grin widened, and in that moment, it could not have been more different from Laslow’s dazzling battle-mask. She flipped her lance around and lunged forward, driving the whole instrument through the man’s abdomen. She yanked it free, spraying herself with blood in the process. She seemed unaware of the mess—or more likely, didn’t care.

They had lost the element of surprise. The more corners they turned, the more often they found Crescent Butchers in some sort of defensive position. Had they raised some sort of silent alarm? And what did that mean for Corrin, if she were here? (Xander refused to think about it.)

They eventually followed the curve of the outer wall of the fort to the main double doors, only to find several angry-looking, axe-wielding brutes, and—to top everything off—a mage wielding a tome that was easily the size of his head.

“Flank them,” Xander immediately ordered, and the three of them broke apart.

Laslow immediately went for the mage, dodging gouts of fire as he did. A woman with a wicked-looking axe took a swipe at him as he passed, but Laslow twisted out of her reach with the practice ease of a dancer. It unfortunately left him off balance, and he caught the next lightning bolt straight to the gut. He spluttered, stars sparking in his vision.

Peri was skittish as a horse crossing water as she took up defensive positon after defensive position. A lancer’s biggest fear was axes, after all, and she’d lost Lady Corrin while trying to fight a berserker. Hot shame burned in her gut as she tried to distract these axe-wielders long enough for Xander to do what he did best.

And Xander was in _rare_ form. He swung Siegfried in arc after arc of purple-edged fury, and though the occasional enemy landed a blow, the Crown Prince seemed to neither notice nor care. His whole being was consumed by the driving need to find Corrin, to keep her safe, and damn the consequences.

Peri chanced a glance sideways just in time to see Laslow catch that lightning bolt to the gut. Her eyes went wide and immediately snapped back to assess Xander’s position. He was crossing blades with a fellow swordsman who was nowhere near the same caliber.

_He’ll be fine,_ she decided, and took off running toward Laslow.

The mage was gearing up for another assault, and Peri felt her stomach drop. Laslow was swaying unsteadily on his feet, his sword too low to be in attack positon. He wouldn’t be able to get out of the way this time. Peri’s eyes locked wide in horror, and she did the only thing she could think to do.

She tackled Laslow to the ground just as the mage shot a burst of fire that whistled over their heads. They hit the ground hard, and Laslow groaned as his wounded side was jostled. The heat from the fireball was searing at close range, and the scent of burned hair threatened to choke Peri. But she got to her feet, yanking her lance up with her and twisting the blade around to striking range.

She never got the chance.

At that moment, several figures waiting on the crests of the levees decided that this was the perfect time to intervene. They swooped down upon the three Nohrians, who had hardly the time to defend themselves. One cracked a club against the back of Peri’s head with a gut-wrenching blow, and the sound made Xander jerk his head around just in time to catch Sanjiro himself barreling right toward him.

The berserker wore a grin even madder than Peri’s. “Thought I’d be seeing you, boy.” Xander raised Siegfried to the level of his eyes, a decidedly un-royal snarl twisting his features. “Ah, ah,” said Sanjiro, shaking a finger, “none of that, now.”

Xander felt a rush of power bloom behind him just before the lightning bolt struck, and the world turned black.

-)

When Xander came to, he had to blink a few times to ensure he was, in fact, looking at the same world.

It was oppressively dark down here, and it took his eyes several minutes to adjust. Once they did, he realized three things:

 

  1. Kagero had been correct about the Crescent Butchers keeping their captives in some sort of cellar, although instead of cells, he was simply chained to a hook in the wall.
  2. Laslow and Peri were also down here, restrained in much the same manner.
  3. Camilla was going to kill him.



 

“Xander,” Peri whispered. “Xander, are you awake?”

"I’m here.”

Xander glanced over to her, only to find that the last remaining holdout of Peri’s mascara had streaked down her cheeks, and would only continue to do so. “Laslow won’t wake up.” Panic gripped her voice.

"He needs rest,” Xander said, which was true but did nothing to assuage his concern, either.

"Silence!” thundered a booming voice.

Peri and Xander both looked up, only to find themselves staring down Sanjiro himself. Peri shrank back from the former ninja’s black-eyed stare, but Xander tipped his chin up in a passable version of royal contempt, given the circumstances.

Sanjiro cackled, a sound like ground glass and cigarettes. “Well, Prince Xander, I’m certain you’re wondering what will happen to you now.”

"You certainly think highly of me,” Xander said blackly. “I’m no prince.”

Pain exploded in Xander’s gut, and it took him a moment to realize Sanjiro had kicked him. Peri squeaked in surprise, and shifted closer to where Laslow lay, unconscious and chained to the wall, putting herself bodily between her fellow retainer and Sanjiro.

"Don’t play coy, _boy,”_ Sanjiro spat. “A little hair dye might be enough to fool the average idiot, but not me. Certainly not with that sword of yours.”

It suddenly occurred to Xander that he wasn’t wearing Siegfried. He tried not to show any emotion on his face, but couldn’t help but glance around this circular cellar room in the vain hope to catch a glimpse of purple.

"That got your attention, eh?” Sanjiro cackled again, and Xander was already beginning to hate the sound. “Don’t you worry that pretty little royal head of yours. We’ll get that shipped off to a proper buyer, just as soon as we can manage it.”

"It won’t work,” Peri burst out. “Siegfried has to choose you. That’s how legends— _oof!”_ Xander bit back on his molars as Sanjiro slammed his boot into Peri’s ribs, cutting her off.

"We’ll make it work,” Sanjiro promised harshly. “And _you.”_ He whirled to Xander. “You can kiss her shot at leaving here alive goodbye.”

Xander’s fingers curled into useless fists. So Corrin _was_ here. _Bastards._

"Give a holler if he starts to stink, eh?” Sanjiro said, jerking a thumb toward Laslow. “My boys couldn’t rightly tell if he was dead or not.”

“You’re no Hoshidan,” Xander said as Peri began to softly weep again.

"Of course I am.” Sanjiro smiled in such a way that made Xander’s insides twist in horror. “I just learned Nohrian from a mutual friend of ours.”

"Well, now,” said a familiarly accented voice. “Was it Hans? I bet it was Hans.”

Sanjiro aimed for Laslow’s ribs, and instead got a bootful of Peri’s when she moved to cover him. Sanjiro made a show of gargling for a moment, and then hocked spit downward. Peri jerked her head to the side just in time to avoid a face full of it.

Xander sighed as Sanjiro stormed away, slamming the door to the circular dungeon behind him. “It must have been Hans,” the Crown Prince said. “I never liked him.”

"Peri, there was no need for that,” Laslow said weakly.

"Thank the _gods,”_ Peri said, breaking into tears of relief. “You’re okay!”

"Oh, I’m quite well,” Laslow said, “I just _love_ dank cellars this time of year.”

Peri giggled, and Xander managed a faint smile. “Peri, _why_ did you lie to him about Siegfried?”

She shrugged, the chains rattling as she did so. “It just doesn’t seem right for someone to use it other than you, Lord Xander.”

“That’s sweet,” Xander said, “but inaccurate.”

"I dunno,” Laslow said, wincing as he tried to sit up without aggravating his ribs further, “I certainly know of a noble house back home whose lords were the only ones able to wield their ancestral sword.”

Xander blinked. “How is that possible?”

Laslow made an exaggerated shrug that made Peri giggle. It almost made the screaming in his ribs worth it. “They managed somehow. Said the sword was too dull to be of use in the wrong hands.”

"Sounds valuable.” Xander thumped his head against the dirty stonework behind him and shut his eyes.

Laslow and Peri exchanged a look that only royal retainers could decipher. It was a look that said, ‘should you, or should I?’, and could only be achieved through years of study and practice. It was said that Iago and Hans, King Garon’s retainers, could have entire conversations in his presence without the king ever knowing. Laslow and Peri were nowhere near that accomplished, but they _did_ have something going for them.

Stubbornness.

“Lord Xander,” Peri put forward tentatively, “what are you doing?”

“Thinking.” Xander didn’t open his eyes.

“Of?” Laslow prodded.

“Well, for one, I understand why Leo keeps Niles around. Neither of you would happen to be accomplished lockpicks, would you?”

Both Laslow and Peri shook their heads. “No, Lord Xander,” Laslow added.

Xander sighed. “I didn’t think so.”

“If that’s one, what’s two?” Peri asked.

Xander opened his eyes, his usual scowl twice as pronounced beneath dark bangs. “Nothing worth repeating, particularly in the company of a lady.”

“I’m sure I’ve heard worse,” Peri coaxed.

"And you deserve better,” Xander assured her, then sighed. “We all do.” He pointedly rattled the chains encircling his wrists.

He hardly needed to tell them twice. With his hands held at an angle high over his head, what should have been uncomfortable was downright excruciating for Laslow. He squirmed in a futile attempt at stretching out his cramped limbs, popping his shoulder painfully in the process.

Peri gave him a sympathetic look. Or tried to, anyway. At the same moment she tried to smile at him, the musty straw that covered the floor finally made her sneeze. She tried to catch the sneeze out of habit, yanking her hands down toward her face. The left one caught as one would expect from a chain, but the other, Peri discovered, slid downwards within the cuff.

A predatory grin bloomed across the cavalier’s face. She tugged experimentally at her right hand cuff, and her hand slipped further down through the iron band. She twisted her thumb as far towards her palm as it would go, and she struggled to slide her hand through the rusty handcuff.

Laslow observed her struggle with a gleam to his usually guarded, grey stare. “Bring your hands closer,” he murmured. Peri did so, bringing her hands as far down as the chain attached to the wall would allow.

Laslow studied it for moment—“Sorry about this, love.”—before spitting on the hand in the loose cuff.

"Laslow, that’s disgusting,” Xander admonished.

But Peri was giggling, tugging her hand even further through the cuff. “Do that again,” she said, holding up her hand.

It took Laslow a moment to work up the saliva, but he did as ordered. Peri was yanking at the cuff now. It sat frustratingly low on her wrist, and just needed to slide over her bulky thumb joint. She glanced to Laslow, who shook his head, jokingly sticking out his tongue like a panting dog.

“Lord Xander?” Peri turned to him. “Your turn!”                             

Xander heaved a very put upon sigh—“I suppose it’s preferable to breaking your thumb.”—before swishing saliva around in his mouth. He hocked a very un-regal glob of spit onto Peri’s hand, and she quickly twisted it around in the cuff.

And then, all at once, her hand came free.

Peri was shaking her spit-covered hand, giggling all the while. There were huge red welts across the pale expanse, as well as streaks of rust, but the skin didn’t appear broken. A slow grin spread across Laslow’s face, and Xander wore a smaller, less love-struck version.

“I take it back,” said the Crown Prince. “I have an idea.”


	18. Chapter 18

It was many hours and fitful catnaps later that three bandits entered the circular cellar, bearing bread and dirty water. Peri squinted through the darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of their weapons. Her eyes raked across them for a glint of steel or iron. She had to hold back a grin when she found what she was looking for, and instead nudged Lord Xander and Laslow.

Show time.

"Nohrian bastards,” the lead man remarked, tossing the rations carelessly to the ground.

Peri’s hands fisted in her skirts, hiding her free hand from view. Xander glared contemptuously up at the three bandits—although really, it wasn’t too different from his usual facial expression. Laslow remained immobile, slumped against the wall.

Peri swallowed audibly as Xander scooped up their rations and slid the tin mugs away from the bandits’ boots. “Please,” Peri said, and she would have tugged at the hem of the lead man’s robe if she could have, “p-please, I think he’s dying.”

"What?” barked one of the bandits. “Who?”

"Laslow.” Peri made a show of crocodile tears, thanking the Dusk Dragon that her mascara was already ruined. “H-he’s not m-moving anymore.”

The lead man looked to Laslow, and then back to Peri and Xander. “Watch him,” he said to the man on his left, gesturing to Xander. “Put your naginata through him if he moves.”

The man with the naginata drew the lance-like weapon from its place on his back, and angled the thing within striking distance of Xander’s throat. He nodded to the lead man as Xander eyed the tip of the blade warily.

With the major threat taken care of, the lead man dropped to a crouch to examine Laslow. “I can’t tell if he’s breathing,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Does someone have a mirror?”

Peri tuned out the three bandits as she searched for an opportunity. This lead man had a sword, and so did the man to his right. She needed that Hoshidan lance the third one held, but the waiting was _excruciating_. She could already see the blood splattered across the walls in her mind’s eye, could already taste the coppery spray.

 _But Laslow said that was bad,_ a little voice in the back of her head told her. _And so did Lord Xander and the nice doctor-man. And these bandits might have mommies, too._ Peri had to shake the thought from her head. She would never understand why Laslow insisted that thinking on such things was good, but she had promised him she would try.

The lead man said something in Hoshidan and got to his feet again. The man with the naginata pulled the tip of the blade away from Xander’s throat, and Xander released a held breath that couldn’t possibly be fake. He wasn’t a decent enough actor to project that much relief, if it were false.

Peri waited until all three men had their backs turned, and then she struck.

She sprang forward, catching the man with the Hoshidan lance off guard. He let out a startled “Oof!” as she collided with his legs. Peri yanked hard on the butt of his spear, and it slipped from the man’s surprise-slackened grip. Only then did she rise, the chain keeping her pinned to the wall clanking as she did so.

Peri twisted the lance around to striking position, scraping the butt of the spear against the stone wall as she did so. Such close quarters would be the death of her, if she weren’t careful. _I only have one chance._

So she did what she did best, and thrust forged steel through the lancer’s head.

He crumpled to the floor, forcing Xander to twist out of the way lest he be pinned. The man who had checked on Laslow seemed stupefied, unable to process what he was seeing. Peri moved forward to take advance of the momentary lull, only to have her borrowed lance clang against the other man’s sword.

"You Nohrian bitch,” he growled, bringing his katana up and around in a deadly arc.

There was nowhere to run, and nowhere to turn, so Peri did the only thing she could think of—she ducked, dropping to a complete crouch on the musty, straw-covered floor. The katana passed mere inches above her head, taking a few stray hairs with it, and instead of biting into flesh, it clanged against the moldy stone.

"Peri,” Xander barked, “ _run.”_

Her first thought was that the chains wouldn’t let her, but her feet were already moving at her Lord’s order. And instead of yanking her arm out of its socket, she bolted clear across the cellar floor.

Only then did she realize that the man’s katana hadn’t simply clanged against the wall—it had broken open the rusty chain keeping her pinned down. It wasn’t a clean break; Peri trailed rusty chain across the floor. She whirled on the two remaining bandits anyway, lance up and in striking position.

A fiendish grin bloomed across the cavalier’s face, and the laugh that echoed throughout the chamber chilled the men to their bones. “I’m gonna lay your guts at Lord Xander’s feet.”

With a frustrated roar, the bandit leader shot forward, his sword angled to pin Peri’s chain to the floor. She quickly pivoted, yanking the chain back with her. Peri looped the rusted metal around her wrist like some kind of demented bracelet, and brought her lance back around to striking position just in time. The clang of metal-on-metal reverberated throughout the circular room, making both Xander and Laslow wince.

The lead bandit pressed forward with quick, vicious slashes. His friend was also on the move, snarling as he rounded on Peri. Two against one weren’t unfamiliar odds, but they weren’t forgiving, either.

Peri needed space to work her particular brand of violence, and it felt all kinds of wrong to be fighting on foot. She missed the sure-footedness of her beloved horse, missed the height advantage it gave her and distance it practically forced on her opponents. She remembered, in the back of her mind, all of those lessons with Lord Xander upon her initial appointment to retainer. He had drilled her with lance-fighting forms day after day after day, until not only were the second nature to her, but also her muscles didn’t need the help of her brain to perform them.

She baited the swordsmen with a jab here and a slash there, drawing rich, red blood that stained their white, Hoshidan robes. They were becoming enraged, and Peri’s grin was stretching even wider, until it nearly threatened to break clean off her face.

And then, one of the swordsmen made the critical mistake of stepping forward. Peri’s eyes widened in anticipation, and she flexed her fingers where they rested on the lance. “You’re right where I want you!”

She lunged, driving the point of the Hoshidan spear right through the man’s chest. She heard bones cracking beneath the man’s pained yelp, and Peri adjusted her footing and twisted the lance around before yanking it back out again. He collapsed on the ground with a rapid, crimson bloom stretching across his abdomen.

Peri whirled on the other one, twisting her lance around in the cocky way that Lord Xander always barked at her for.

But he wasn’t barking now. Xander was watching the fight with a scowl even more intense than usual, and Laslow’s entire body was so tense, it threatened to further crack his ribs.

The bandit swordsman charged again, and Peri swiftly sidestepped him. The man was forced to pull up short, lest he run headlong into the wall. Peri cackled, and stabbed her lance through the man’s back, near the base of his spine. He spasmed for a moment before growing limp, and when Peri yanked her lance free, the man fell to the floor with a wet thump.

"Excellent form, Peri,” Xander called over to her, breaking through the bloody haze Peri found herself in. “Now, kindly get us out of these.”

"Do you think they have a key?” Peri called back, dropping to a crouch to rummage through the dead men’s pockets.

"If they don’t,” Laslow said, “you can apparently break us loose.”

"That’s true,” Peri conceded.

She continued to rummage through the men’s pockets. The rich, coppery scent of blood was making her feel all warm and tingly, as if she were drunk, but it was sticky and uncomfortable on her bare hands.

 _This is what Lord Xander doesn’t like._ The little voice in the back of her mind cut through the intoxication. _This is what Laslow warned you about._ _These men had mommies, too. You aren’t any better than the servant who killed yours._

Blood was bad, she reminded herself. Blood meant killing. Blood meant war. It meant stains and sadness and horror. It meant she was losing herself to who she used to be—that scared, murderous little girl that Lord Xander thought she was better than. It meant she was drawing ever closer to the version of herself that had nearly strangled Laslow.

 _Laslow,_ who had never been anything but kind to her.

 _Laslow,_ who also smelled like blood.

 _Laslow,_ who didn’t think she was a monster.

Peri’s eyes widened in horror, and it was a struggle to keep her voice even when she called over, “I don’t think there’s a key, Lord Xander.”

“Then grab a sword and try to break the chain,” he called back. “We’ll deal with it later.”

Peri scooped up the dead man’s katana as she passed him, the sword heavy and uncomfortable in her hand. Some people could make swords look pretty and deadly in combat, but Peri had never managed it. She much preferred lances, with their thin hafts and huge range.

But before she’d made it even halfway back across the room, the door at the top of the stairs began to creak. Peri froze, dropping the katana, and she heard Laslow’s sharp inhale behind her.

Heavy, lumbering footsteps began to make their way down the stairs, and Peri dropped into a defensive stance in the middle of the room, bringing the borrowed lance up and around to striking position. Each footstep seemed to rattle around in her brain, and behind her, Xander’s balled fists were turning white.

A huge, baldheaded berserker appeared in the dark doorway, hefting a large, wicked-looking axe. “Well, now,” he said. “This explains a lot."

Peri felt her knees begin to shake. No, not him. _Anyone_ but him!

“This time, bitch,” Sanjiro said softly, bringing his axe up to striking range, “I’ll kill you."


	19. Chapter 19

Once, in her younger days, Peri had entered the annual spring tournament in Windmire. She had entered alone, with no fighting partner except for her trusty steel lance. She had no trouble smashing her way through the ranks, and had needed very minor healing throughout most of the day.

But in the second-to-last bout, she had come up against an axe wielder. The woman was thin like a spear, and flexible like a whipcord. She had bounced on the balls of her feet before the fight began, and Peri had thought nothing of it.

But as soon as the bell sounded, the woman had lunged forward. Peri had slipped backwards out of range just in the nick of time, and brought her lance up to defend herself from the crushing blow. But the woman smashed right through her guard with that axe of hers, and Peri was forced to retreat. She’d led the woman on a merry chase around the arena, occasionally managing to get in a few jabs, before the woman cleaved right through the lance’s haft, and crushed Peri’s breastplate right over her heart.

The officials had declared the match over, and the axe woman had proceeded to the final round. Peri ultimately placed third, and had sighed at the news. It wasn’t that she needed the prize money; she simply wanted to be the best, for once.

After the tournament, she had been down in bowls of the arena, in the infirmary. An annoyed-looking healer was tending to her injury, and Peri remembered sitting on the examination table, swinging her legs back in forth (since they didn’t reach the floor), when he had come in.

He was a tall, blond man, well-muscled in way of a career soldier, and well-dressed in the way of the nobility. Although his face was pursed in a scowl, Peri got more of a disciplinarian vibe from him than actual anger. He strode over to where she sat, and the healer made a short bow and continued to dress Peri’s wound.

The blond man cleared his throat. “Do you know who I am?”

It suddenly struck Peri that the man was wearing a wrought iron circlet. He also looked closer to a practiced paladin than a budding mage, and so she took a guess as she immediately dropped into an awkward bow. “Prince Xander!”

"There’s no need for ceremony.” Peri could hear the smile in his voice. “We’re in an infirmary, after all, and I had to ask three separate healers before I got a firm answer as to whether or not you were decently clothed.”

Peri sat back up, wincing involuntarily as she did so. “Can I do something, Prince Xander?”

He smiled, and it made him seem three-hundred times less scary, by Peri’s reckoning. “Actually, I have a proposal for you.”

Peri blinked a few times. “I don’t follow.”

Xander studied her for a moment with an unreadable expression before he continued. “I was greatly impressed by your performance in the arena today, Lady Peri. I think you have the makings of an excellent martial leader and quartermaster.”

"But I came in third,” Peri couldn’t help but say. The healer looked at her, aghast, but to both her and Peri’s utter surprise, Xander only smiled further.

"Am I correct in assuming you have no formal training?”

Peri nodded.

"And that you served a few tours of duty with a mercenary company of some sort?

Again, Peri nodded.

"So effectively, you had no teacher at all, but picked things up when and where you could?”

For the third time, Peri nodded.

"And yet, you have placed third in the most famous tournament in all of Nohr.”

Peri blinked a few times. “Oh, well, yeah, I guess when you put it that way it sounds a lot more impressive, huh?”

"Precisely,” said Xander with a nod. “Therefore, I have a proposal for you. I can see the makings of a great knight in you, and so I ask you—Peri of House Dormand, would you do me the honor of becoming my royal retainer?”

The entire infirmary went totally silent—even the injured. Everyone—the healers, the injured combatants, the apprentices, even Xander himself—looked to Peri as she stared at the prince, not believing her ears.

To be a retainer was to live at Castle Krakenburg and serve the royal family. It was to eat, sleep, and work beside your liege lord (or lady), and to possibly lay down one’s life in defense of the crown. It was an honor, a sacrifice, and a burden, and a position not offered lightly.

Years later, Peri would realize that she saw this opportunity as a chance to atone for her sins, but at the moment, all she could think was that despite his hard expression, Prince Xander had very kind eyes.

He coughed. “If you, er, need a day or two to think it over…?”

"No!”

The healers began tittering, and Peri’s eyes widened at the word that just slipped out. She covered her mouth with hand.

“I mean,” Peri tried again, “I don’t need a few days. Yes, I would be honored to serve the royal family, Prince Xander.” She bowed her head, without removing her hands from her mouth.

Out of her line of sight, Xander quirked an eyebrow. “I’m willing to forgive that impertinence on the grounds of shock and battle fatigue, but know that I am not a lenient man.”

Peri nodded, her head still bowed. “I understand, Prince Xander.”

“Then rise.” Peri jerked upwards with the mechanical motions of a doll, too shocked to lend any grace to the motion. “And bring your effects to Castle Krakenburg by dusk.”

Peri opened and shut her mouth a few times. Her governesses had always reprimanded her for her un-diplomatic (which Peri always took to mean un-noble) behavior, particularly in the way she spoke. Peri had never been more acutely aware of her defect than at this very moment.

“Is something wrong?” Xander asked, rather gently, all things considered.

Peri blinked something out of her eye. “Can I say good bye to my mommy and daddy, before I go?”

Xander looked taken aback, and cleared his throat. “Do you mean the Lord and Lady Dormand?” Peri nodded feverishly, and Xander’s shoulders relaxed by the barest modicum. “Of course. I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t get your affairs in order.”

“Thank you, Prince Xander,” Peri said, with sincerity.

He remained there rather awkwardly as the healer finished up her work bandaging Peri’s side, and averted his eyes politely while Peri struggled back into her crushed breastplate. “I hadn’t realized that Lady Dormand was still living,” Xander said, making a polite stab at conversation.

Peri studied her boots. “She isn’t,” she said quietly.

Xander covered his surprise well. “I,” he began, and then started over. “My condolences to your family.”

“Thank you,” Peri said, getting to her feet and probing at her side with her pale, slender fingers. She winced when she found the center of the axe wound. It would likely smart for days. “It was a long time ago.”

-)

She could still recall sitting in the corner booth at Niles’ favorite tavern, watching the other royals’ retainers dancing and getting drunk and chatting with any and every one. They had all gone out to celebrate Arthur and Effie’s recent engagement, and she had spent most of the evening curled up in that booth.

She’d figured Laslow would get up with Odin and Selena to get another drink, but he hadn’t. She’d figured he would want to dance with Selena, or possibly Beruka or one of the other women in the bar, but he hadn’t. She’d figured he would flirt until he got himself slapped, but he hadn’t.

Instead, Laslow had listened to her tales of woe, transfixed by something on her face. Peri had never seen the man sit so still, nor had she ever told anyone about her mother until this moment. In an uncharacteristically kind gesture, Selena dropped off two more mugs of ale for them at some point, and had patted Peri awkwardly on the shoulder before pressing on.

Odin had appeared with his usual jubilance by the time both Laslow and Peri had tears streaming down their faces. He had thumped two more mugs of ale down on the table and told some hysterical version of Niles’ most recent attempts to flirt with Beruka, on whom nobody could tell simple disinterest from complete unawareness. Laslow was cracking up, smiling through the pain, and that was the first time it occurred to Peri that maybe he smiled too much on purpose.

Odin had enveloped the both of them in an awkward hug across the table, almost knocking over several tankards in the process. Laslow shooed his old friend away, and Odin left to go cheerfully inflict himself on Selena.

Peri had risen to her feet, only to stumble in her heels. Laslow was beside in her an instant, catching her before she fell too far. She was reminded of the myriad times Laslow had caught something she hadn’t in a battle—an axe-wielder coming up from behind them, a cavalier trying to flank them, Lady Corrin’s dragonstone transformations, the roots of Lord Leo’s Brynhildr sliding into or out of the earth.

“Is this what…” Peri hiccupped. “…being drunk feels like?”

Laslow blinked at her a few times, confusion written across his handsome face. “Have you… never done this, Peri?”

She tried to shake her head, but it made the world spin too much, so she stopped. “I never had anyone to go with.”

Laslow’s expression softened. “Let’s get you somewhere to sleep it off then, shall we?”

Laslow kept a steadying hand on the small of her back as he guided Peri between the other tables and over to the bar. He asked the bartender if there were any rooms available upstairs, and the bartender had nodded, told him the price, and slipped the key into Laslow’s hand with a wink.

Laslow blushed furiously, but Peri only giggled. “He thinks…” She hiccupped. “He thinks we…” Hiccupped.

"Don’t fret too much about it, Peri dear,” Laslow interrupted, although his face announced very much that he was fretting about it. “There will always be rumors.”

Niles had winked (such as it was) at them as they passed, telling Laslow in a voice dripping with honey that he hadn’t realized crazy was his type. Despite the worthlessness of the endeavor, Laslow had assured him that it wasn’t like that; Peri just needed somewhere to sleep. Peri stuck her tongue out at Niles as he continued to hound poor Laslow, calling him a meanie and a stupidhead, to boot. It had actually gotten a smile out of Beruka, who then looked confused with herself.

Despite her heels, Peri had been doing an upstanding (pun intended) job of keeping her balance. It helped that she had Laslow’s steadying hand to guide her, and he was just so _warm._ It made her want to snuggle closer and thaw out the chill in her bones that had been settled there for as long as Peri could remember.

And then they reached the stairs.

The upstairs staircase was mercifully separated from the main room, and so all of their friends and colleagues didn’t have to witness Peri trip over the first stair and nearly faceplant into the rest of the hardwood staircase. Once again, Laslow had been her savior, catching her before she fell too far.

"Come on, Peri,” he said, sitting her down on the bottom step. “Let’s get your shoes off.”

Peri bent down to work through the clasps, but her fingers felt fat as sausages and she couldn’t un-thread the little buckle on the side of each one. Laslow watched her fumble for a moment before he knelt down, undoing each buckle with such tenderness that Peri felt her breath catch. He handed her heels back to her with his real smile, not the fake ones he usually wore, and Peri could only accept them, dumbfounded.

Who had cared for her so openly, since her mother had died? The servants, she supposed, but they were paid to do so, and she had killed a lot of them. Certainly not her father, who had retreated into his study after her mother’s death, only coming out for mealtimes and social engagements, but the latter had eventually trickled off as the rumors about House Dormand had spread.

Laslow helped her back up to her feet, and Peri found that without her shoes, she barely came up to his chin. She had the absurd urge to lay her head at the hollow of his throat, tuck herself against his chest, and never come out again. But then she remembered someone telling her at some point that alcohol made you think weird things like that, and she felt a little better about it.

He put his hand on the small of her back again, nodding meaningfully towards the top of the stairs. Peri nodded back, drew in a hiccupping breath, and tried to tame the beastly stairs again. It was much easier without her heels, and she giggled at the discovery. Everything felt so strange beneath the flat soles of her feet, and her tights were very itchy where her shoes usually rubbed against them.

She was grateful to have Laslow’s warm hand steering her, especially when she stumbled again. But this time, she didn’t let Laslow pick her back up again. Instead, she just planted herself on the stairs and folded her arms across her chest like a petulant child.

“It’s too hard,” she heard herself say.

Laslow laughed, the sound like a ray of sunshine breaking through the ubiquitous Nohrian cloud cover. She wondered why she’d never noticed that before. “Peri, my dove, you walk up flights of stairs all the time. There are three, in fact, just to reach the Crown Prince’s quarters.”

“Nuh-uh.” Peri stuck her tongue out at him.

Laslow laughed again. “Alright, now you’re just being ornery. What would Lord Xander say?”

Peri scowled in a comical imitation of their Lord—“Run the drill again!”—and then collapsed into a fit of giggles.

Laslow was laughing, too—partially from the accuracy and partially because he found Peri’s laugh infectious. “If you don’t stand up, Peri, I’m going to have to carry you. And then what would people say?”

Peri mimicked Niles’ honeyed drawl: “Well, would you look at that. Laslow finally managed a dance between the sheets.” She winked, but in her drunken state, it came out more like a purposefully executed blink. “There’s hope for him yet!”

“That’s enough,” Laslow muttered, his face turning beet red.

Peri giggled gleefully at her victory. She opened her mouth to say something else, but came up short when Laslow gathered her in his arms. “Eep!” she said as he hoisted her up, but stilled when she came to rest against his broad chest.

“I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink, Peri my dear.” His voice was all rumbly when she was this close to him, and Peri pressed her ear against his chest to listen better. “I’ll bring you some water later, okay?”

As Laslow began to move again, Peri noticed a certain scent about him. He smelled of men’s cologne, to be sure—the good, expensive kind that was musky but pleasantly masculine—but there was something beneath that, too. Something utterly familiar, and copper-toned. If Peri shut her eyes, she could almost see the crimson spray as it erupted from this servant or that enemy.

 _Blood._ Laslow smelled like blood.

She knew that he had killed people, of course. They had been Lord Xander’s retainers for years, and had seen more than a few battles in that time. She had watched Laslow stab Hoshidan spies and duel pesky court hangers-on and any number of things in between, but she had never been close enough to smell it on him.

“You smell nice,” Peri mumbled against his chest.

Laslow chuckled. “Thank you! I pride myself on _bathing.”_ He added the second sentence flippantly, and he sounded so much like _Laslow_ that Peri wanted nothing more than to kiss him for it. The notion scared her, and she pushed it away.

“Not that,” she said, trying to wave him off and nearly hitting him in the face. “Beneath that.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You smell like blood.” She nuzzled further into his shirt, not caring that the metal buttons were pressing against her cheek. “It’s a nice, relaxing scent.”

“Peri! That is…” He sighed, and the shock fell away from his voice. “…about on target when it comes to you, isn’t it?”

Peri yawned, and she felt her eyelids droop. Laslow was just so _warm._ “I don’t get it?”

“Sometime when you’re less drunk, Peri.”

He set her down a moment or two later, and Peri absolutely mourned the loss of his warmth. She swayed slightly as she watched him fit the key into the lock, and then he ushered her inside.

He helped her sit down on the edge of the bed, and coaxed her out of her gauntlets and bonnet. Peri tugged at the ribbons holding her hair back, fumbling with those knots, too. Laslow squeezed her hand gently before he unthreaded the black bits of cloth from her hair. The blue-and-pink tresses fell to her shoulders, hiding even more of her face from view.

Laslow set her personal effects on the bedside table while Peri flopped down on the bed. It was amazing how much the world stopped spinning when she was lying down. It may have felt like her whole consciousness was being drawn out of her through a point just behind her forehead, but at least the world was blessedly still. She was only partially aware of Laslow pushing her gently onto her side and throwing a blanket over her. Peri gratefully snuggled into the soft cloth, but it wasn’t nearly as warm as he was.

“I’ll come check on you later,” Laslow promised. “Sleep well, Peri.” His footsteps began to recede.

“No!”

The footsteps froze. “Peri?”

She couldn’t stand the thought of him leaving. She couldn’t stand the thought of being left alone in this unfamiliar place with these unfamiliar smells and this unfamiliar darkness.

"Stay with me?” Peri rolled over to look at him, and Laslow looked stricken. “Just until I fall asleep. Please?”

Laslow sighed, and set about looking for a chair. When he didn’t find one, he uttered a curse to a god Peri had never heard of before, and sat gingerly at the edge of the bed.

"Thank you,” Peri murmured sleepily, reaching out to squeeze his hand. She missed, but Laslow caught it and squeezed back anyway, a small smile dancing across his lips.

“I’ve got your back,” he said. “I would just prefer to avoid rumor, is all.”

"You flirt with everyone,” Peri argued.

"It isn’t the rumors about me that I would care about.”

"Let people think what they want,” Peri muttered, shifting closer to him in an effort to warm the chill in her bones. “We’re just a couple of pals who work for Lord Xander. It isn’t… isn’t like…”

Laslow waited patiently for her to finish her sentence, but when no ending ever came, he glanced over to her, only to discover the cavalier snoring softly.

-)

Both of these men were the only people to have ever believed in her. Lord Xander had simply seen her fight and decided her character to be of enough substance to hire her on, and whereas most people saw a bratty noblewoman or a vicious killer, Laslow had simply seen someone in desperate need of a friend.

They believed in her, and more than that. they trusted her. When he learned of her past, Lord Xander hadn’t released her from service (or worse, had her arrested, tried, and executed). Instead, he had insisted in that kind-but-firm way of his that she needed to speak with someone professional and make reparations to the families of the people she’d wronged. Laslow had pulled her aside later that day to tell her about a crazy dark mage who was apparently Odin’s father, and said not to worry, Henry had lots of friends and even made a surprisingly good father.

Lord Xander cared for her like he cared for his younger sister, Elise. He made sure Peri ate well and regularly, asked after her health and hobbies, and even had the kitchens make her favorite chili for her birthday, even though it was the day before Yuletide. He was a stern man, but he was always fair, and he never insulted or belittled her. In training, he found things to praise and things to critique in almost equal measure, and he never, _ever,_ told her she was crazy.

And Laslow cared enough about her to put up with her tantrums and childish stubbornness. He cared enough to sharply cut into conversations where people insulted her, even if it were Odin or Selena. Laslow had cared enough about her to carry her up the stairs at Arthur and Effie’s engagement party, to hold her and let her cry into his nice shirts after appointments with the nice doctor-man that had been really, really hard, and to drag her away from Felicia even though her instincts had been screaming for justice.

And Peri was now the only thing standing between the two most important people in her life and a power-mad berserker with an axe.

Her grip tightened on the borrowed lance, and her face broke into a snarl. It didn’t matter that she was tired and hungry and needed to clean mascara out of her eyes. It didn’t matter that Sanjiro had an axe, or that she had lost Lady Corrin to him. It didn’t even matter than her old wound was screaming or that her thigh muscles were.

Laslow and Lord Xander were counting on her, and she would not fail.

“Time for some killing!” Peri snarled at Sanjiro, her voice a deranged singsong.

The Hoshidan berserker cocked an eyebrow as he raised his axe to the level of his eyes. “He failed to mention that Xander kept retainers who were _batshit crazy.”_

Xander’s eyes widened, but Laslow began to laugh. “Oh,” he said through fits of laughter, “you’ve done it now!”

With a furious roar, Peri launched herself at Sanjiro before Laslow had even finished speaking. The berserker managed to get his axe around in time to prevent himself from being impaled. He pushed against Peri’s weapon for a moment before suddenly shifting back, stepping around the end of the lance to get under Peri’s guard. She was forced to pull the lance tight to her chest to catch the blow, lest the axe cave her chestplate in over her actual chest.

“Peri Astridsdóttir,” Xander barked, able to stand it no longer, “I taught you to handle an axe!”

The cavalier’s mismatched eyes widened in their sockets, and even Sanjiro seemed puzzled. “Dusk Dragon,” Peri swore, her mind shuffling through all the endless training sessions with Lord Xander and Laslow back in Castle Krakenburg. “You’re right!

Peri shoved forward with her lance, pushing Sanjiro back, before she disengaged completely and shot back several paces. She flipped the lance around and twisted her body so that only her left side faced her opponent. She then shifted her footing and leaned on her back foot, bringing the tip of her lance deceptively low to the ground.

Laslow let out an appreciative whistle, and Xander clapped his hands together a few times as best he could while still in the cuffs. Only then did Sanjiro recognize the odd way the lancewoman was holding herself.

It was the axebreaker stance.


	20. Chapter 20

Only once had Sanjiro of the Chiyome clan ever encountered an opponent who could perform the axebreaker stance with any real skill, and he’d received the puckered scar across his face as a result. And by the way this woman carried herself, had fallen so naturally into the axebreaker, Sanjiro could hazard a guess as to how practiced she was in it. Crazy or not, Prince Xander’s retainer had just become twice as deadly. He wondered why she hadn’t used it before.

Peri giggled, and launched herself at Sanjiro again. This time, her lance could easily scoop under his guard, and poke at his unguarded belly. She drew blood before backing away, snickering like mad and twirling her lance like a damned baton. Blood welled up from the puncture wound, streaking Sanjiro’s white armor.

But Sanjiro was laughing, too. Didn’t this woman know the trouble with berserkers?

He loosed a frighteningly loud roar and charged her again. Peri caught the brunt of the blow with the haft of her lance, but was forced to twist out of the way rather than parry. She would not risk a broken haft.

Sanjiro came at her again and again with dizzying strength and startling speed. It was a struggle to maintain the axebreaker stance, with its awkward angles and knee-popping lunges. Peri’s whole body was screaming for her to just end it, already.

She thrust and parried and searched desperately for an opening. It seemed that the more blood she drew, the angrier Sanjiro became. (She vaguely remembered Lord Xander saying something about berserkers getting more powerful the more injuries they had. It had always seemed counterintuitive to Peri, so she’d paid it no mind—until now.)

So Peri quit poking the sleeping bear.

She began to circle him, eyes narrowed and trained on his every movement. Sanjiro feinted, and Peri missed her block. The axe was completely on course for a direct strike on her un-armored skull, and for a heart-clenching moment, Laslow was afraid he was about to watch the woman die.

But instead of a spray of blood on the wall, Peri shifted her weight from one foot to the other in a tight spiral. Her borrowed lance whipped around behind her in a controlled arc. She scooped under his guard one more time, and drove the lance into his abdomen with all the force left in her tired body.

Sanjiro froze, and his wicked-looking axe clattered to the floor from his limp hand. A moment later, his whole body slumped even further forward. Laslow could just make out the tip of the naginata peering out from between Sanjiro’s shoulder blades, and Peri’s ragged breathing echoed in the cellar.

She then yanked the lance out of Sanjiro’s limp body with a disgusting squelch, and he collapsed the rest of the way to the floor. Peri let out a startled ‘eep!’ when the body nearly crushed her feet, and danced out of the way.

Wordlessly, Peri bent down and wiped the tip of the naginata on Sanjiro’s kilt. She then lifted his deceptively heavy axe with a grunt, and came over to where Xander and Laslow were still pinned to the wall.

“Pull your hands down,” she ordered, hefting the axe into striking position.

Xander did so, and Peri brought the heavy axe down hard. The clang of metal-on-metal reverberated throughout the small, circular room, but Xander’s hands came away free from the wall. The rusted chain rattled against the stone wall behind him, barely missing the back of his head on the way down.

“Well, that’s the first step.” Xander got to his feet with a pained groan, and then shuffled over to Sanjiro’s body to rifle through the pockets for a gods-damned keyring.

“Hands down, Laslow,” Peri said breathlessly to her fellow retainer, and Laslow did as ordered.

Peri brought the axe down on the rusted chain above Laslow’s head, and to her immense displeasure, it didn’t break. She cursed, hefted the axe again, and brought it down a second time. _Still_ , the chain didn’t break. It clattered cheerfully against the stonework, as if it _enjoyed_ being a pain in the ass.

“Well, that’s my luck, isn’t it?” Laslow muttered.

“No!” Peri’s tongue poked out between her lips as she focused intensely on the metal keeping her friend and fellow retainer pinned down. Laslow found it adorable. “I can do this.”

Laslow pursed his lips as Peri brought down the axe on the rusty chain for a third time. With a grinding noise, it finally snapped, hitting the back of Laslow’s head as it fell. “Ouch,” he muttered, trying to rub at the exact spot and failing, due to the handcuffs.

Peri winced. “I’m sorry.”

"That’s okay.” Laslow grinned up at her, and tried to get to his feet. His face cycled through the five stages of grief as the movement jarred and stretched his rib injury. Peri caught him before he stumbled, and he flashed her a grateful smile.

"Finally!” Lord Xander’s voice cut into the gloom, and Peri and Laslow hurriedly stepped away from each other, embarrassed to be caught standing so close.

Xander brought the keyring over to Peri, who tested several keys against the keyhole in his cuffs before finding the proper one. The rusted metal fell away, and Xander rubbed at his violently red, chafed wrists while Peri set to work freeing Laslow.

After his hands were free, Laslow spent several moments fitting keys into the lock on Peri’s remaining wrist cuff. He blushed hard and tried to convince himself that the darkness in the cellar would cover it, but Xander noticed, alright, and had to hide his amusement. _Like schoolchildren,_ Xander couldn’t help but think.

Once they were both freed, Laslow and Xander picked up the two dead men’s katana, taking a few experimental swings with them. “Good enough,” Laslow proclaimed.

“Inferior,” Xander muttered, glaring at the katana as if it were the sword’s fault it wasn’t Siegfried.

Laslow chuckled as he took up his usual position opposite Peri. “Hopefully we’ll find yours soon, milord.”

Xander sighed, taking a few more test swings with the katana. “We can only pick a god and pray.” Laslow did a complete double take, to the point that Xander cocked an eyebrow. “Something the matter?”

Lalsow’s brow furrowed. “Have I said that before?”

"Not to my knowledge,” Xander said. “Why?”

“That…” Laslow paused just before the doorframe, trying to collect himself before whatever lay beyond. “Never mind.”

Xander opened his mouth to probe further, but was accidentally interrupted by Peri: “Laslow, you’re missing the chain thingy from your belt.”

Laslow’s grey eyes shot wide open, and his free hand immediately went to his hip. Sure enough, he felt the broken loop that had formerly attached the short chain of golden discs to his belt. He immediately jerked his head around to scan the cellar floor.

_"No,”_ he breathed, tracing every possible step he could have made in this dank cellar.

Xander and Peri quietly joined him in the quick search, keeping their eyes peeled for any glint of gold in the semidarkness. Bile rose in Laslow’s throat, bitter and unwelcome, the longer their impromptu search stretched on.

"It might have broken off in the earlier fight outside, Laslow,” Xander said after a few more moments of fruitless searching.

Laslow’s fingers were fiddling with the broken loop on his belt. “I hope so.” Both Xander and Peri looked to him expectantly, and the dancer sighed. “If I tell you what it is, will you both stop _staring?”_

“You have my word,” Xander said, and beside him, Peri nodded energetically.

“It was my mother’s, from one of her dance costumes. It’s… all I have left of her, now.”

Peri opened and shut her mouth a few times, and Xander’s facial expression softened, just a hair. “We’ll help you search outside later,” Xander promised. “But right now, we need to find Corrin, and Siegfried, and probably the Yato.”

Laslow shut his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and then stretched his face into a smile. “Right, then.” He opened his eyes, and an uncharacteristic fierceness glittered behind the grey. “Let’s go save the princess, shall we?”

Peri giggled as the three of them tore up the stairs. “Does that make Lord Xander the knight in shining armor?”

“Knight in shining _robes_ , more like,” Xander grunted, tugging at the irritating Hoshidan contraption strangling his legs.

"It could be you, Peri my dear.” Laslow’s smile was a touch more real as he opened the door to the guards’ room above the cellar. “You’re technically also a knight.”

The three of them lowered their weapons when they discovered the room was empty. “My armor doesn’t _shine;_ I take good care of it!”

"Black armor doesn’t shine, anyway,” Xander said with a sigh.

Peri pouted. “Siegfried does.”

Xander glanced skyward, as if the Dusk Dragon could not only hear him, but save him from this conversation. “Siegfried is a weapon, Peri, not armor.”

A quick scan of the room discovered a trunk full of confiscated weapons and armor. Laslow and Peri quickly retrieved their customary weapons, the latter gleefully tossing aside the borrowed naginata in favor of her favorite old steel lance. But there was no sign of Siegfried, not that Xander had actually figured there would be. If its purpose were to be sold for a profit, the legendary Siegfried would hardly be rusting away in a trunk full of (likely dead) prisoners’ effects.

Xander set the katana aside and picked up the naginata that Peri had discarded. After a few experimental thrusts and parries, he shrugged and relaxed his stance. Both Peri and Laslow were looking at him with confusion, and so, with a put-upon sigh, Xander said, “I’d rather a lance than an inferior blade.”

-)

The fort’s façade had been deceptive, they discovered. The exterior made it appear to be of middling size, even on the small side, but the inside was _massive._ There were no end of side rooms and closets, of long, winding hallways and shoji screens. For every possible turn, there were at least three wrong ones, or so it felt.

There was also no end of Crescent Butchers. An alarm seemed to have sounded when Sanjiro and the three guards before him didn’t return from the cellar prison, and the rest of the bandit clan had come out in force.

Although Xander preferred a fair fight, he was not above misdirection, especially given everyone’s current state. A bloom of crimson blood had appeared on Laslow’s gambeson about three hallways ago, and even Peri’s ferocity was waning. Xander pushed himself beyond prudent limits, knowing he had to set the example lest they all perish. It didn’t help his screaming shoulders, though.

Like before, they used corners to their advantage, whipping around them to smash headlong into would-be assailants. They put out torches, and made animal noises in adjacent hallways. Peri faked tears a few times, and once, Laslow had even made a show of collapsing to the floor at the foot of a door-guard, only to run the man through when he knelt down to see what in blazes was going on. Still, the tide of bandits was relentless; Xander quickly lost track of how many they slaughtered.

There were ninja striking from the shadows, and shuriken flying from all directions. More than once, Xander narrowly avoided catching one directly between the eyes by sheer luck or one of his retainers’ shouts. He wasn’t so lucky in missing the ones directed at his limbs or the unarmored portion of his chest, however.

There were swordsmen, too, with their curved katana and even more irritating dual katana, which had notched end-pieces that were perfectly suited to rip a lance from an opponent’s grip. Laslow did his best to catch most of those, but a few slipped through the cracks. One even managed to disarm Peri, but she had lashed out with teeth and nails before the woman even had the chance to follow through with her parry. The cavalier had wrestled the katana from the woman’s grip and run her through with her own blade.

There were axe-men, too. They attacked with unparalleled savagery, but Laslow and Peri didn’t need to match them to take them out. Laslow could simply step around them and slice through unarmored body parts, and Peri took bloodthirsty pleasure in practicing the axebreaker stance.

There were mages, too, the damnable things. Xander had never realized just how much he relied on Leo (and by extension, Odin) to combat the fire and lightning whooshing across a battlefield. Without a counter-mage, fighting one was damn near impossible until you were close enough to decapitate or slice off hands. The scent of singed hair and cloth always hung heavy in the air after the three encountered a mage. They would likely need haircuts (and possibly new suits of armor) by the time this was through.

At one point, the three of them huddled in a stairwell, trying to catch their breath. Peri had ripped the sleeves off a dead Butcher’s clothing to make a bandage for Laslow at some point. It did little more than sop up blood, but he smiled at her just the same.

Watching them made Xander’s chest ache. Despite all the rooms they cleared and shoji screens they’d broken through, there had been no sign of Corrin, let alone Siegfried or the Yato. His little princess _had_ to be here somewhere, right? That was what both Kagero and Sanjiro had said.

Unless they were in contact, somehow? This was all some elaborate scheme to kidnap Corrin again, and kill off the Nohrian Crown Prince in the process?

"I don’t think so,” Laslow said thoughtfully, and Xander realized he’d said the last bit out loud. “Kagero doesn’t seem like the lying sort—”

"She’s a ninja,” Xander interrupted thickly.

“—And beyond that, I think she genuinely hates Sanjiro,” Laslow continued as if Xander hadn’t spoken, jerking a thumb towards the cellar below. “You said her horror at the Crescent Butchers’ seemed genuine when she spoke to you and your sisters, right?” Xander nodded. “Then it likely has nothing to do with Kagero, and they just moved Corrin when we broke out of prison.”

Xander slammed a frustrated palm into the stone wall, wincing on contact but at least not breaking his knuckles. “But where would they take her? I doubt they have a second fort somewhere.”

Laslow paused. “That… is a good point.”

Xander shut his eyes for a moment, and his exhaustion hit him all at once. They easily had to have been working through this mess for over two days, by now, and with what little sleep the cellar had afforded them (and even less sustenance), he felt ready to collapse.

"Lord Xander,” Peri said, and he immediately opened his eyes. “What if she’s just upstairs?”

Both Xander and Laslow blinked a few times. “I beg pardon?” said the former.

“Upstairs.” Peri gestured upwards.

Xander appeared at a bit of a loss for words. “Are we not on the top floor?”

"Look over there,” Peri insisted, firmly pointing upwards.

Xander followed her line of sight across the ceiling stonework. There seemed to be nothing but wooden crossbeams and the occasional sconce. He was about to recommend Peri take a nap, but then he saw it: a small, iron ring, nearly flush with the surrounding stone.

"Peri,” Xander said as he strode forward to get a better look, “remind me to nominate you for a Nohrian Star when we return.”

Peri squeaked in surprise; Laslow grinned hugely and reached over to squeeze her shoulder in congratulations. Xander didn’t notice either of them as he studied the little iron ring. It was too far over head for him to reach—and if _he_ couldn’t, neither could Laslow or Peri—and so he set about looking for a chair or trunk or something to stand on.

Laslow, however, had a better idea. “Peri, love, why don’t you get on my shoulders and see if you can get that?”

Peri’s brow scrunched in thought as she glanced back up to the iron ring. Her mental math told her that Laslow wouldn’t be tall enough to get her up there, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings—or worse, his injury. “I don’t want to bother your ribs,” she said. “Lord Xander, can I borrow your shoulders?”

Xander heaved yet another put-upon sigh, and glanced about the narrow hallway one more time, as if he could will a chair into being by sheer force of will and decorum. “First I spit on my retainer, and now we’re playing chicken.” He stooped to allow Peri to hop up on his back, and let out a startled “Oof!” when their chestplates collided. “My mother is rolling in her grave.”

"I think Queen Katerina would rather you be alive than a slave to decorum, Lord Xander,” Laslow pointed out as Peri reached for the iron ring. She made a face, and climbed further up Xander’s back, until she was sitting on his shoulders proper. She stretched to her full height and her fingers just managed to wrap around the iron ring.

“It’s okay if you need to move quickly when I open this, Lord Xander,” Peri said, “I won’t fall.”

“Duly noted,” Xander grunted, his grip tightening on Peri’s legs.

She yanked hard, and with a horrible, grinding sound, the trapdoor came free. Peri coughed as dust rained down, and a rope ladder rolled out from the darkness above. It stopped a foot or so above the floor.

“That looks promising,” Laslow said, coming over to help Peri down from Xander’s shoulders.

She shifted her weight, trying to slide down Xander’s back instead of falling all six feet to the floor, but missed her mark, and instead fell sideways. Laslow managed to break her fall, more so than catch her, and he let out a pained grunt as it jostled his damn injury.

“This is really getting to be irritating,” he muttered, pressing a hand to his bloody ribs.

Peri winced. “I’m sorry.”

 Xander took one look at his retainers, and knew what he had to do. “Guard the entrance. I’ll go on ahead.”

“You can’t go by yourself, Lord Xander,” Peri said stubbornly, folding her arms across her chest.

"I must agree,” Laslow said, although his face was twisted in searing pain.

Xander smiled, but it was tired and lopsided. “I’ll try not to get into too much trouble, alright? Both of you, guard this… ladder.”

Peri made a face as Xander passed her his lance. Laslow did his best to the hold the rope ladder steady as Xander climbed up, reaching back for his lance when he was just a rung or two short of the narrow, rectangular hole in the ceiling. Peri passed it back up to him, butt-end first, and then Xander squeezed through the opening. For the first time since this damn mission began, he was glad not to be wearing his usual armor. He wasn’t entirely convinced he could have fit through this opening, with those shoulder pauldrons.

The ladder led to a small room so dark, Xander’s eyes took several moments to adjust. There was no furniture up here, just a weapons rack on the wall and a lot of straw. Once his eyes had adjusted, he realized that there _was_ a bit of light in the room—and it was purple.

His heart leapt at the sight of Siegfried, suspended on the wall from the wooden weapons rack. Beside it was the Yato, its four circular notches and filigreed hilt illuminated by the faint light of his beloved sword. If the Yato were here, it meant Corrin had to be nearby. Why separate woman and weapon by leagues when a few locks would do?

Xander pulled himself more fully into the room, and set down his borrowed lance. His breathing was reverent as he retrieved Siegfried, and the sword felt blessedly familiar in his hand. The hilt was warm, as though he had just set it down for a moment. He carefully fitted it into the loop at his hip, and then picked up the Yato. The blade was oddly unbalanced in his hand; he wondered how Corrin could stand it.

Xander lay on his belly to poke his head through the trapdoor. Laslow and Peri were standing dutifully at the foot of the ladder, chatting aimlessly about something. Not for the first time, Xander thanked the Dusk Dragon that his retainers had become such fast friends (and then some). Niles and Odin had a cordial relationship at best, and he knew it wore on Leo.

Laslow and Peri both looked up to him expectantly. “Orders, milord?” Laslow asked.

“Hold this,” he said, threading the Yato through the trapdoor.

"You found it!” Peri said.

Laslow climbed up a few rungs to take the Yato. “Was Siegfried up there, too?”

"Mercifully, yes.”

Peri excitedly clapped her hands together as Laslow joined her back on the floor. He eyed the Yato warily, as if it would bite him at any moment. “Should we come up there?” Laslow called.

“Not yet,” Xander said, removing his head from the trapdoor again.

By Siegfried’s dim purple light, Xander found more homeless weapons on the walls. Some were ornate, like Siegfried and the Yato, but some were just plain steel or even silver. What was the purpose of this room? It was too out of the way and too hidden to be an armory.

Xander nearly missed the doorknob nestled between a Hoshidan-style bow ( _yumi,_ his childhood lessons supplied) and a dual katana, it was so small and nearly flush with the wall. He loosely gripped Siegfried’s hilt while he quietly turned the knob.

The scent of blood hit him first, but it was old, and metallic. He was suddenly very glad he’d told Peri to wait below; he could never quite predict how the woman would react to things that ordinarily horrified people—namely blood, but also attention.

The second thing he noticed was that he wasn’t alone. There was a small, likely female figure chained to the far wall. Her hair was matted with dried blood, and her arms were splotched with dark purple bruises. As Xander drew closer, he could make out more injuries and open wounds in Siegfried’s dim light—lacerations up her arms and legs, puncture wounds, and even what appeared to be a cigar burn on the fleshy underside of her forearm.

And then his heart clenched.

"Gods above,” he breathed, one hand reaching to press against his mouth, “ _Corrin.”_

At his voice, she stirred, groaning in evident pain as she raised her head. One of her eyes was circled in black, and her lower lip was split and apparently had been for a while, because blood had dried down her chin and no one had bothered to wipe it away.

She blinked a few times—well, the one eye did; the other was sealed shut from the bruising—and squinted through the semidarkness. _“Xander?”_

That voice was like music to his ears—more invigorating than Azura’s song, and left him twice as breathless. “I’m here, little princess.” He couldn’t help but curve a hand around her unbruised cheek; he needed to know that she was real.

Corrin breathed a sigh of relief, warm breath ghosting across Xander’s sore wrist. “Thank the gods.” Her voice was pained and oddly breathy, like she couldn’t get enough support beneath it. “I was afraid I would die down here.”

“Never.” Xander had to mentally instruct himself several times before he could remove his hand. He turned his attention to the cuffs keeping Corrin suspended.

"The big one has a key,” she told him, still only half sounding like herself.

“You mean Sanjiro?” Xander glanced down to see her reaction, and immediately wished he hadn’t. She was _far_ too close.

"The bald one with the axe?” Corrin clarified. Xander nodded, fixing his eyes back on the cuffs. “Yeah, him.”

Xander couldn’t help but smile. “I have his key ring.” He pulled the offending bits of metal out of the inside pocket of his robes, and began fittings keys into the locks around her wrists.

Corrin’s inhaled sharply. “Did you kill him?”

Xander shook his head, still trying keys. “Peri did.”

Corrin tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a whooshing noise. “Remind me to grant her a royal boon, when we get out of here.”

“Oh, trust me,” Xander said, “I’m nominating her for the Nohrian Star when we return home.”

"I’ll second that honor,” Corrin said as her right hand came free. “Is Laslow here, too?”

Xander fitted the key into the other lock and gave it a twist. “Of course.”

“Good.” Corrin ripped her left hand free.

And immediately buckled under her own weight. Xander caught her before she hit the deck, and Corrin squeezed him so tightly around the middle he thought she might well crack a rib. She pressed her ruined face into his chest, and Xander allowed himself the liberty to press his forehead against the crown of her head. He breathed in slowly, and beneath the blood and sweat, she still smelled faintly of lavender and incense—like herself.

For the first time in three days, Xander felt the tension (mostly) leave his body. Without Laslow and Peri to set an example for, or bandits to murder him, Xander could finally admit what he previously could not:

“You had us all terrified, Corrin.”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was muffled by his armor. “I’m sure Camilla gave you the what for.”

“And you’re next,” he reminded her.

Corrin made a huffing noise, and extracted herself far enough to look up at him. “Do you think she’d wait until I can see out of my one eye?”

"Maybe.” Xander pulled a mock thoughtful face to avoid looking down at her. “You are her favorite sibling.”

Corrin snorted, and let go of him. She was still unsteady on her feet, but at least able to stand. Xander didn’t fully release her until he was certain she wouldn’t keel over, but did so regretfully, anyhow.

But there was one other thing he had to ask, as much for his own sanity as for her possible aid: “Corrin, did they hurt you… anywhere else?”

Corrin blinked at him a few times. “I mean, yes? I’m covered in wounds.” The glare she earned was cutting, and that’s when it dawned on her. “Oh Xander, you needn’t worry about my honor. They seemed more interested in bleeding royal blood out of the ‘Hoshidan traitor’ than in my sex.”

Xander simultaneously winced and huffed in relief. “I was more worried for you than your honor, but that’s what Kagero figured.”

"Kagero’s here?” Corrin asked as led the way out of the torture cell. She winced at the light coming up through the trapdoor.

Xander’s eyes were merely watering—“How do you think we found you?”—as he laid down on his belly yet again to poke his head through the doorframe.

"I’ve got her,” he announced to his retainers. “But she, uh, isn’t in much condition to climb down.”

“Hey!” Corrin shouted from behind him, causing both Laslow and Peri to laugh. She struggled to lower herself onto her belly to join her brother in peering through the trapdoor. “I am perfectly—! Oh.” She stopped short at the sight of the rope ladder.

“Hoo.” Laslow whistled at the sight of Corrin’s face. “Lady Corrin, that is a _shiner.”_

Peri waved cheerfully. “Hi, Lady Corrin! We have your Yato!” She held up the blade, as if in proof.

Corrin laughed, and the sound was slowly returning to the one Xander cherished. “Thank you, Peri! I hear I’ve you to thank for taking care of that bald brute, as well?”

Peri beamed. “He bled a lot.”

Xander glanced over just in time to catch Corrin shaking her head. “Corrin, are you _certain_ you don’t want me to just lower you down and have Laslow catch you?”

Corrin started to worry her bottom lip, but winced as soon as her teeth made contact with the cut. She sighed hugely. “I suppose. But tell _no one.”_

Xander flinched back from the finger she jabbed toward his face. “Of course.” He glanced back downstairs. “Did you both catch that?” Both of his retainers nodded. ‘Then Peri, would you kindly climb about halfway up to help guide Corrin?”

Peri nodded and began her ascent, while Xander and Corrin removed themselves from the narrow doorway. As Xander looped his arms under Corrin’s, he heard her murmur, “Thank you, big brother.”

And although the once-accurate term now hurt his heart, he forced himself to smile, so she could hear it in his voice. “Of course, little princess.”

 


	21. Chapter 21

Kagero was nervously pacing back and forth in front of the main door to the Crescent Butchers’ fort. She had been debating entering for over an hour now, but knew that should the worst happen, there was no way she could fight all the Crescent Butchers alone. She’d already done reconnaissance for every possible entrance (and window, and roof leak, and sewer pipe), and had determined the risk to be very high, indeed. There were fewer enemies than there were even yesterday, and so she assumed Lord Xander and the others had broken free, somehow. But could they last on their own? Should she be with them?

But her worry was for naught, for at that exact moment, Xander, Laslow, and Peri appeared with an injured Corrin in tow. Kagero let off a very unprofessional whoop as she hugged Lord Ryoma’s younger sister in his stead. But then she turned to the Nohrians.

Lord Xander looked absolutely exhausted, Laslow’s wound at re-opened at his side, and Peri’s face was a mess of blood and mascara. And that was to say nothing of Lady Corrin, who had clearly suffered at the Crescent Butchers’ hands. Kagero grimaced at the battered sight of all of them, but said with sincerity, “I am glad to see you all well.”

“He’s dead,” Peri announced cheerfully.

Kagero blinked at the maniac cavalier in the Crown Prince’s employ. “I beg your pardon?”

“Sanjiro,” Peri expanded. “You hated him, right? Well, he’s dead.”

Kagero’s jaw actively dropped at the news, and Xander felt a little bad for doubting her. The ninja glanced to the prince. “Did you do this?”

Xander shook his head, and his wavy hair had grown so sweaty it didn’t even move from where it had stuck to his face. “Peri wanted to be the one to bring you the good news.”

Kagero turned back to the woman with a newfound degree of respect. “I… I can’t believe this.” She made a noise that was almost like a laugh. “ _Thank you.”_ She bowed low to Peri in the utmost sign of respect, for a Hoshidan. “You’ve helped bring some honor back to the Chiyome clan.”

She straightened back up, and surveyed the motley group of Nohrians in front of her. “I don’t suppose you want to make camp and rest, do you Lord Xander?”

“Of course not,” he huffed, “it’s only a few hours back to camp and this place is…” He glanced over his shoulder and searched for a word. “…grim.”

"Haunted, I’d say,” Laslow said, shivering.

Even in her victory, Peri’s eyes held a touch of something sad. “Horrible.”

“A damn blight on humanity,” Corrin muttered.

Kagero sighed and fell into step alongside the four of them. She let Laslow, Peri, and Corrin get ahead of her, and pulled Lord Xander aside (such as it was, on the road). “I found this outside the fortress, milord.” Kagero reached into a pouch at her belt, and withdrew a chain of golden discs. “You wouldn’t happen to know what it is, would you?”

Xander studied it for a long moment. “I believe that belongs to Laslow.” He held out his calloused hand.

"Lord Xander, there’s no need to trouble yourself. I can—” She pulled up short at the calculating look Lord Xander was giving her. It was the same one that Lord Ryoma had. “Of course.” She tipped her hand, and the gold chain pooled in Xander’s hand.

"Thank you, Kagero,” he said, with genuine feeling. “You are most observant.”

-)

It was a full twelve hours before Xander and his retinue (such as it was) returned to the campsite (such as _it_ was). Which is to say, completely barren. Camilla had left Selena in her stead, and the Ylissean expat had been pacing the same patch of earth in increasing irritation right up until she had been stumbled upon.

In a rare display of emotion, Selena’s brown eyes widened in shock—“Thank _Naga,_ you’re all safe!” she shouted—and bull-rushed Laslow in a hug so fierce, she nearly tackled him. He weakly patted her back as she squeezed his injury further.

Xander and Corrin exchanged a look—which they were then happy to let Peri in on—while Kagero merely cocked her head and studied Selena’s movements, as if looking for an imposter.

Selena then violently let go of Laslow, and completely ignored the tears blurring her vision by shouting, “ _Do you have any idea how STUPID you are?”_

Everyone relaxed. That was Selena, alright.

“ _Odin and I have been worried sick, you damned hero! You could have been killed, you idiot!”_

 Laslow had his hands up, palms out, as if he could possibly placate her. “Selena, dove, it’s alright; I’m alright—”

_"What the hell would I have told your father?”_

Xander felt a rush of shame. He knew about Laslow’s mother, of course—the man was free enough talking about her, and her passing—but he had no idea Laslow’s father was still living. Should he have been allotting time for Laslow to visit home on occasion? Been sending Yuletide cards to the family? It was bad enough he didn’t know whom to contact to at least tend to Laslow’s mother’s grave, as he did for Peri’s mother’s.

But then Laslow’s face shut down hard, and Xander realized he’d worried for nothing. It made his heart ache for his friend. “Nothing he would mourn, I’m sure,” Laslow said lowly. “I would have given my life for my liege, and done so gladly.”

"You are not Frederick,” Selena hissed.

“And _you_ are not Cordelia.”

The way that Selena’s face expanded in shock, and then shut down hard, led Xander to believe the topic of Selena’s mother to be incredibly, woefully off-limits. She looked gutted. “We aren’t talking about me,” the redhead said hotly.

“And how is my brother doing?” Corrin asked Kagero loudly, in an attempt to give Selena and Laslow as much privacy as could possibly be afforded.

Xander loved her a little more for it, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he moved closer to the two mercenaries as Kagero responded, equally as loudly, “Both of them are quite well, milady. Undoubtedly, they will reach Kimorano on schedule…”

“We have a job to do,” Selena was hissing to Laslow, taking full advantage of Corrin and Kagero’s cover. Xander almost couldn’t hear her.

“And I _did_ it,” Laslow argued, gesturing to Xander and Corrin.

Selena studied him for another moment, and then said, uncharacteristically quietly, “Inigo, you _swore_ to me that would you stop doing this.”

_Inigo?_ Xander wondered, almost missing Laslow’s response: “Doing what? My duty?”

“Shutting everyone out!”

_That_ gave Laslow pause. “I’m sorry,” he said, staring down at his boots. “I forget just how much you really see.”

“Great, then stop being a dick to people who care about you.”

“And _you’re_ going to lecture me on that,” Laslow fired back, “are you?”

Selena’s eyes narrowed. “First of all, that is my shtick. Second of all, I know I’m not one to talk about this, so at least you know I’m speaking from experience!”

Laslow sighed, and rubbed at his aching ribs. “Is Odin angry with me, as well?”

“Not exactly,” Selena said. “He’s… well, he’s disappointed. Not for going after Corrin, of course, but for refusing aid.”

Laslow attempted to brush her off. “There were others who needed it far more than I did.”

“You _know_ he could have at least healed your surface wounds.” Selena drew closer to him. “And then _maybe_ you wouldn’t have come back four days later, bleeding and dead on your feet.”

Odin was a healer? This was news to Xander. He strained to catch more of their conversation beneath Kagero and Corrin’s much louder, far less interesting one about the princes of Hoshido.

“My dear friend,” Laslow said, “I _lived._ Is that not enough?”

Selena was having none of it. “You know it isn’t.”

Laslow sighed, and he drew Selena into far gentler hug. Behind Xander’s shoulder, Peri scowled, and looked away. “I’m sorry to have worried you,” Laslow said after another moment.

Selena gripped his back fiercely. “Don’t go off and be a damned hero,” she said. “I have enough trouble wrangling Odin. War is no time for heroes.”

“Just survivors,” Laslow agreed, and it sounded like something the two had said many a time.

Just _what_ was going on, here? If she wasn’t angry with him for doing his duty—which it sounded like Selena wasn’t—that what in the gods’ name was she so furious with Laslow over? Nearly dying? They all did that every day.

The weight of Laslow’s mother’s chain was heavy in his breast pocket. The longer Xander waited to return it to its rightful owner, the angrier (and less informative) Laslow would be, and beyond that, Xander was not cruel.

His fist curled tightly around Siegfried’s pommel. The time for secrets was over.

-)

Camilla had practically been beside herself when Xander’s motley crew arrived at the Laughing Bear. There had, quite simply, been too many injured to continue sleeping out in the open, she’d said between crushing hugs and frequent scolding, and so she’d pressed everyone onward to Kimorano—more specifically, to the inn Ryoma had indicated in his letter.

She shooed Laslow, Peri, and Corrin up to the resident Shrine Maiden’s room, informing everyone that she’d already paid the woman a flat rate for the week, and pulled Xander aside the instant he came back downstairs from setting his things in a room and ensuring his charges were looked after.

"What happened out there?” Camilla said bluntly, folding her arms across her chest.

Xander sighed hugely. “Before or after the failed frontal assault?”

Camilla blinked—once, twice, thrice—and then said, “You sound like you need an ale.”

"I’d settle for dinner, first,” Xander muttered, following his sister back into the main room.

They seated themselves at the bar, and Camilla flagged down the bartender in half the time it would have taken Xander. She ordered a bowl of the evening’s pottage, and two glasses of the Hoshidan-style pilsner for which the tavern was apparently famous.

Xander did his best not to poke at the fragrant stew the bartender set before him, but the habit of identifying his meals was far too ingrained for even decorum to strike down. He determined long, thin noodles, beans, and some sort of leafy, green vegetable to be floating about the broth, sipped a cautious mouthful. The taste of Mirin cooking wine and something that was sort of like basil exploded pleasantly across his tongue.

“Take small sips,” Camilla advised over the lip of her glass. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

Xander snorted, narrowly missing his bowl. “Yes, sister,” he teased.

“Trust me,” Camilla said. “If that sits anything on your stomach like it does mine, you’ll thank me later.” Xander’s eyes lost their teasing lilt as he studied the stew-like concoction a bit more closely. “I doubt you’ve eaten anything substantial in three days.”

Clever Camilla, telling him how long they’d been gone without alerting the entire barroom. “That I have not,” he agreed

She let him eat in relative peace, and didn’t speak again until the tavern had begun to empty for the night. “So tell me,” she began in a low voice, “what happened with the Crescent Butchers?”

Xander relayed the events of the last several days—beginning with Kagero leading them to the fort, and ending with stumbling upon Selena at the old campground. “And thank you for that, by the way,” Xander added.

“I could hardly leave a note,” Camilla said. “Who knows who would have seen it, or even if it would have still been there?”

“A valid point.” Xander took a sip from the glass in his hand, steeling himself against the incredibly bitter hops. This ale was considered _pleasant,_ in Hoshido?

“How is Corrin doing?” Camilla pressed.

“About as well as she can be, all things considered.” Xander didn’t miss that Camilla’s hands tightened around her glass. He too dropped his voice to add: “She mentioned her torment didn’t involve the, uh…” Xander coughed as he searched for a word. “… _basest_ aspects of a person, so we can at least count that amongst her blessings.”

Camilla’s violet eyes shot open wide, and her hand tightened so sharply, Xander was half convinced she’d snap her glass in two. “A bitter mercy,” she said, her voice short and harsh, although Xander knew it had little to do with him. “Have you seen the rest of her?”

“Obviously not,” Xander said, unable to stop himself from sounding short, either.

Camilla shut her eyes, counted internally to ten, and then opened them again. When she spoke, her voice was far softer. “You were right to run off when you did. Delaying would have only made things worse.”

“I know.” Xander took another sip of ale, and this one wasn’t quite so hateful as the last. “Why else would I push myself so hard?”

“Because you love her.”

Xander’s response was rote: “She is my sister; of course I do.” It grew more genuine as he added, “And if you dare tell me you don’t think I would go chasing off after you in just as few heartbeats, you don’t know me nearly so well as you think you do.”

"No, I know you would.” Camilla smiled—a little one, but it was there. “It’s one of your best and worst qualities. Likely to get you killed, you know.”

"If I die in place of one of my dear siblings, so be it.” Xander managed a tired, equally-as-small smile.

Camilla sighed. “I feel the same.”

They clinked glasses.

“Oh, and how are Peri and Laslow?” Camilla added. “She looked like she fell into the Arrowhead Channel, back home, and his wound looks _angry.”_ She paused. “Speaking of angry, what _did_ he do to piss off Selena so? She’s worse than usual.”

"That—” Xander thumped down his glass. “—is a very good question.”

"You don’t know either, eh?” Camilla held up two purple-nailed fingers over the bar, and the bartender disappeared into the back again.

"I have a hunch,” Xander said, rolling his now-empty glass from one hand to the other. “At first, it seemed as though I was simply watching her come to terms with the reality of Laslow’s duty as a retainer, but…”

Xander paused when the bartender appeared with two more glasses of beer, and waited until the man was out of earshot again before continuing. “…But she isn’t angry with him for going after Corrin. She seems…” Xander struggled to recall the conversation from this afternoon. He was just so abominably _tired._ “…angry with him for running off and apparently behaving like his father.”

"His father?’ Camilla questioned.

“A man by the name of Frederick, apparently.” Xander glanced to his younger sister.

Camilla shook her head at the unasked question.

“Damn,” Xander said softly, taking another sip of ale. Really, once you got past the bitterness, it wasn’t so bad. A bit like learning to drink coffee, really.

“Has he ever mentioned that his father is still living?” Camilla asked.

“Not that I can recall,” Xander said.

“Hmm.” Camilla took a swig of ale. If Xander couldn’t remember, it had likely never been said. “Would Peri know anything?”

Xander took a thoughtful sip of ale as he considered it. “She may.”

Camilla glanced over her shoulder to the tavern behind them. Pockets of their friends and allies had taken over the main room, now that they could speak more freely. There was no sign of Laslow or Selena, but Peri was sitting with Beruka and Niles, giggling at something (undoubtedly lewd) that the latter had said as she dipped bits of white bread into the same kind of pottage Xander had been eating earlier. Odin was a few tables over, listening to one of Kaze and Kagero’s joint tales with rapt attention. No doubt, he would blow it up into a fantastical version later.

Camilla turned back to Xander. “I’d feel less guilty about tricking Odin into telling us something.”

“Agreed,” said the Crown Prince. “I just don’t think he’d tell us anything."

Camilla observed Odin out of the corner of her eye for a moment. “He’s drunk,” she announced.

“So? He’s managed to keep his secrets from Leo— _and Niles_ —this long.”

Camilla was forced to admit, he had a point. Nevertheless, she gestured to her prodigious cleavage. “Do you not think I could handle it?”

Xander’s forehead immediately gained three worry lines. “First of all, look down.”

Camilla did so, and immediately cursed. She’d forgotten, she was wearing the irritatingly modest Hoshidan Kinshi Knight armor—or most of it, anyway. The headpiece was a real bother, and why _did_ Kinshi knights require such restricting leggings, anyway? Camilla had done away with them ages ago.

“Second of all,” Xander added, “I _knew_ you did that on purpose!”

"Of course I do!” Camilla huffed. “Why would I expose myself to arrow fire without a good reason?”

“There _is_ no good reason.” Xander felt oddly like Selena as he stopped himself from tacking on the word ‘idiot.’ “Cut your formalwear however you please, but I will _not_ have my sister and heir dying of her own aesthetic!”

Camilla looked genuinely surprised. “I’m your heir?”

Xander was at a momentary loss, having expected an entirely different rebuttal. “Of course you are,” he said hoarsely. “Leo only came of age a year ago—and beyond that, I believe you’d make a better monarch, anyhow.”

Camilla was, inexplicably, overwhelmed at the news. “I had no idea,” she said softly.

In a rare show of physical affection, Xander put a hand to her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “There’s another secret father intended to keep from us, then.”

Camilla seemed to be at a genuine loss, all of her energy for scheming sucked out of her at the news. “Do you hate him?” she asked quietly.

Xander almost asked who, purely out of the desire to tease. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “But then other times, I just remember the father from my childhood. The one who used to ask me about my lessons over dinner and occasionally sneak me mulled cider on those nights when I couldn’t sleep.”

"You’re lucky to have such memories.” Camilla’s voice was sincere, even if her hands were taut on her glass.

“I mourn that you don’t,” Xander said quietly.

Camilla shut her eyes, counted to ten, and then elegantly wiped the moisture from them. “So,” she said shakily, glancing back over to Xander, “shall we bother Peri, or Odin?”

"Neither,” Xander decided. “I won’t need to.”

Camilla arched one delicate, newly-brown eyebrow. “You have a plan?”

Xander reached into his breast pocket, and removed the golden chain. It glittered in his palm as he showed Camilla. “Better,” he said, slipped it back into his pocket. “I have leverage.”

Camilla studied her older brother for a moment. Subterfuge was unlike him, and yet—“I forget, sometimes, that you survived the Succession War, too.”

Something hardened in Xander’s expression. “Pity our father didn’t.” 


	22. Chapter 22

Three days later, the Hoshidan retinue arrived.

As he and Ryoma had agreed in their letters, Xander, Camilla, and Corrin were all seated at a table intended for six. _Unlike_ in the letters, however, Xander had strategically placed the rest of their crew throughout the tavern. In the event that this all turned out to be one giant trap, at least _some_ of them might make it out alive.

Beruka and Selena were seated at the bar, having been nursing the same glasses of ale for over an hour, now. Niles, Odin, and Kaze were playing dice over in the corner nearest to the door. No one seemed to be paying much attention to the game, as Niles had won the last four in a row. Laslow and Peri were seated across from each other in one of the booths, deep in conversation over the dregs of a meal (but keeping watchful eyes on the room beyond). Kagero was absent, having been sent ahead to make contact with Prince Ryoma and act as a bit of insurance for the Nohrians, who had only ever seen the Hoshidan royal family a handful of times—and on the battlefield, no less.

Sometime around midday, several figures came through the door, bringing the late summer wind in with them. One of the men had deeply brown hair pulled back into a samurai-style topknot and a calculating stare. The other was far shorter, and had white hair cropped close to his skull. He seemed almost skittish in comparison. The woman who entered with them had violently red hair, a bit like Selena, and seemed largely composed of lean, hard lines.

Corrin leaned over to her siblings to whisper, “That’s them. Ryoma, Takumi, and Hinoka.”

Xander opened his mouth to say something about Kagero not being with them, but the woman herself then came through the door—right alongside the red-haired, one-eyed ninja who had aided her in the delivery of Lord Ryoma’s original letter. _Saizo,_ Xander remembered a moment later. The two ninja asked to play dice with his men, and Niles, Odin, and Kaze graciously made room for the two at their table.

“Brother!” Corrin called across the room, making both Xander and Camilla jump.

Ryoma’s calculating gaze landed on the three of them, but it was rather undermined when he broke into a smile. “Sister!”

Corrin sprang from her chair to embrace him. She then turned to Hinoka, who looked equally as thrilled to see her younger sister and pulled the red-haired princess into a hug to rival Camilla’s. But when Corrin turned to Takumi, he folded his arms stubbornly across his sternum. Corrin deflated, and after a moment, extended her hand. Takumi made a point to ignore it, and looked to Xander and Camilla.

“In-laws,” he said with a disdainful incline of his head.

“ _Takumi,”_ Hinoka hissed over Corrin’s head, “they have _names.”_

It had been as a good a cover as any—pretending the two royal families were each other’s in-laws through Corrin, and her mysterious and as-of-yet-absent husband (the joke amongst the Nohrian retinue was that it was Silas, for ease of the disguise).

“It’s better than ‘Nohrian scum,’” Xander said, forcibly lightly, as he, too, got to his feet to shake hands with Ryoma. The High Prince of Hoshido had a formidable grip.

“You’re looking well,” said Ryoma.

It was easily the most generic thing Xander had ever heard. “And you, as well.” He turned stiffly to Hinoka, whose grip was, inexplicably, even _stronger_ than her older brother’s. “Hinoka, as ever, a pleasure.”

“You’ll have to excuse my little brother,” she said, trying and failing to disguise the tightness in her voice. “Takumi never did learn any _manners.”_ She shot him a glare that Xander had a stifle a laugh at.

"No harm done,” Xander assured her.

He turned to Takumi and extended a hand anyhow. Something angry flashed in the white-haired prince’s eyes, but he still shook Xander’s hand. Xander immediately noticed the odd placement of callouses, and pinned the younger prince as some sort of bow knight.

By this point, Camilla had also gotten to her feet. “Hinoka, darling,” she said, pulling the princess into a shallow hug.

"Camilla,” Hinoka grunted, clearly uncomfortable.

Camilla moved on to Ryoma, pulling the prince into a hug that was as formidable as Xander’s handshake. “Ryoma, dear, how lovely to see you.”

Ryoma was suddenly struck by the sense that, as intimidating as Xander was, it was Camilla whose bad side he would really rather avoid. “Camilla! You’re lovely as ever.”

Camilla released him and turned to Takumi, who was glaring something fierce. “Little Takumi,” she said with a sickly-sweet smile. _“My,_ how much you’ve grown.” She pinched his cheeks in the same way she did with Leo and Corrin, and Takumi appeared too stunned to stop her. Hinoka snickered at his discomfort, and Ryoma was actively stifling a grin with the back of his hand.

Despite that, it was a very tense set of royalty that seated themselves around the table. As he reclaimed his chair, Xander noted that several more Hoshidans had entered the tavern during their exchange. A woman with navy hair and a fetchingly-tailored kimono was chatting with a burly, brown-haired man with a topknot like Ryoma’s near the bar, and a woman with an elaborate purple updo and the diviner’s uniform was reading tarot fortunes in the booth beside Laslow and Peri’s. An empty glass sat near her hand that she was apparently using to collect tips.

“Kagero told us of your unfortunate run-in with the Crescent Butchers,” Ryoma said as soon as their server disappeared with their order. “Truly, I am grateful you took care of that menace.”

Xander waved him off. “Think nothing of it. They _did_ take something rather dear, after all.” He glanced pointedly to Corrin, and Ryoma’s jaw dropped a little and Hinoka’s eyes widened almost comically. Xander couldn’t help but notice they were a particularly warm shade of brown—and that Takumi’s were a similar color, though full of disdain.

“We know you love your sword, brother,” Corrin teased, and both Xander and Camilla snorted.

“Well,” Ryoma said, “I’m sure there’s something we both agree on.”

The three Nohrians nodded. They had heard stories of the legendary katana, Raijinto—to say nothing of its wielder.

Their server reappeared at that moment with a tray full of drinks. She passed beers to Hinoka and Ryoma, and a small, handle-less teacup to Takumi. Xander was surprised to find yet more Hoshidans entering the tavern, although he knew he really shouldn’t have been. A blue-haired woman in the archer’s uniform had stridden through the door and almost immediately knocked her hip painfully into the nearest table corner, and the wild-haired monk behind her merely sighed and steered her away from the table. Xander was vaguely reminded of Arthur and Effie.

_Well,_ he thought dismally, _at least we’ll have a healer, now._

"That reminds me,” Corrin said as the server left again, “Camilla, would you care to third Peri for the Nohrian Star?”

“Oh, absolutely _,”_ said Camilla.

“Who is Peri?” Ryoma asked politely.

"Over my shoulder,” Xander instructed, “do you see the woman with the blue hair, in the booth?” After a moment, Ryoma, Hinoka, and Takumi all nodded. “That is my retainer, Lady Peri. She’s the one who killed the Butchers’ leader, Sanjiro.”

Something dangerously close to respect flickered across Ryoma’s severe features. “Well, I shall have to thank her for Kagero’s sake—unofficially, unfortunately.”

"The Nohrian Star,” Takumi began, “that’s your highest military honor, is it not?”

All three Nohrian siblings nodded gravely. “Xander has already earned one, actually,” Camilla said, deceptively lightly. “For the Ice Tribe Uprising, a few years ago.”

"I still don’t believe I earned that,” Xander muttered into the rim of his glass. It was why he didn’t wear it pinned to his paladin armor.

"Well, I’m sure you’re just being modest,” Hinoka said diplomatically at the same time Takumi said, “Don’t tell me you feel _guilty_ about crushing those poor, defenseless natives?”

Xander’s eyes narrowed but it was Camilla who said, “Takumi, would I be correct in assuming you’re the middle child?”

Takumi studied her for a moment, trying to determine the purpose of the change in subject. “I am, sort of. Hinoka is the upper middle child, I suppose.”

“Hmm.” Camilla hummed thoughtfully. “You simply remind me of my own younger brother, Leo. He’s equally as prickly. Poor thing. Must be a dreadful way to go through life.”

It took Takumi a moment to register that he’d been insulted, and by then, Ryoma had steered the conversation to the task at hand. “I didn’t want to put all the details in letters, for obvious reasons,” Ryoma began quietly, “but since we’re all here, shall we begin?”

And six heads bent together over the table.

-)

To Beruka, the Shrine Maiden’s room smelled like death.

Not because people had died in it, which was the usual reason something smelled like death, but because of the sheer number of herbs and poultices she had arrayed across various surfaces. It smelled like an infirmary, and infirmaries to Beruka would always smell like death.

"Greetings, my child,” said the Shrine Maiden when Beruka entered, although she didn’t seem to be much older than Lady Camilla and thus had little business calling Beruka ‘child.’ “Does your wound still trouble you?”

“No.” Beruka dropped to her knees beside the woman. How these Hoshidans managed to sit _seiza_ style for ages on end was an utter mystery to her. Already, Beruka’s thighs were crying out for a damn chair. “I… had a question.”

The Shrine Maiden’s gaze was warm. “Speak it, then.”

"Before I do,” Beruka said, unable to look the woman in the eye, “do you swear to keep it secret?”

"Unless it will wound someone or you are confessing to a crime, yes.”

Ordinarily, Beruka would have found the stipulations amusing. But as it was, she drew in a deep breath, and then met the Shrine Maiden’s gaze head on. “Can you tell me if I’m pregnant?”

The Shrine Maiden’s facial expression did not change. “Of course. But the easiest and most effective way is a question—have you had recent and regular intimate relations with a man?”

Beruka nodded, somewhat uneasily.

"And,” the Shrine Maiden continued, “I take it that your monthly bleeding is late?”

Again, Beruka nodded.

"Then you are, very likely, pregnant, my child.”

"I want to be certain,” Beruka said.

The Shrine Maiden smiled again, and Beruka was shocked at the sheer lack of judgment in the woman’s expression. “I suppose that’s fair, given your line of work.” It took Beruka a moment to realize that the woman meant the mercenary she posed as, not the assassin she truly was. “I hope you aren’t squeamish; I shall need to examine you again.”

A few minutes later, Beruka was lying flat on her back on the Shrine Maiden’s spare bed with her abdominal armor off. The Shrine Maiden pressed this way and that on her belly, her facial expression betraying nothing. After a few more minutes, she bade Beruka to sit up, and seated herself on a stool.

“It’s still a bit too soon to tell,” she said, “but I’m fairly certain you _are_ pregnant, dear.” The Shrine Maiden broke into a smile. “Congratulations!”

Beruka stared at her for a long moment, unsure of what to say. She supposed that the birth of a child was usually a joyful thing, but it certainly didn’t feel like anything even vaguely encroaching that. In fact, in a lot of ways, it didn’t feel like much of anything at all. But in some ways—the ones Beruka allowed herself to feel—it felt a lot like fear, anxiety, and responsibility.

The woman’s smile shrank, though her face grew no less kind. “Have you told the father?”

Beruka nodded, curling her arms around her unarmored abdomen.

“And…” The Shrine Maiden looked for the words she needed in the Common Language. “What was his reaction?”

Beruka glanced to the woman, an eyebrow in her hairline. “He will help, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Good,” said the Shrine Maiden firmly. “That’s more than a lot of women have in this war, you know.” Another thought seemed to occur to her. “Is he your husband?”

"No.” Beruka stared down at her belly. How long until it would swell to the point that she couldn’t wear armor? How long until this little creature became a target, itself? Would she teach it the art of assassination? Did she want to? “People like us don’t get married.”

“Forgive the harshness,” the Shrine Maiden began, “but that’s nonsense. Mercenary work hasn’t preventing you from finding love, has it?”

_Is that what I found?_ Beruka wondered. She wanted to tell the woman that she was an assassin and Niles was an outlaw and for the love of the gods, who had given them working reproductive parts?

“I thought not,” the Shrine Maiden said, as if Beruka had been contemplating the question. “Now, in my professional opinion, you really ought to take a hiatus for the remainder of—”

"No,” Beruka cut in. “I am finishing the mission.”

For the first time, the Shrine Maiden grew visibly emotional. “You will put your child in danger!”

Beruka fixed her in a hard stare as she got to her feet. “My child…” How _odd_ to say. “…will be in more danger if I fail.”

The Shrine Maiden studied Beruka as the assassin put on her armor once more. “You say that with such conviction,” the holy woman said, “I feel I’ve no choice but to believe you.”

Beruka nodded solemnly, and bowed clumsily in an attempt to show proper respect. She missed the small smile the woman gave her, as it was gone by the time she straightened up. Beruka then turned to go.

“Wait, child,” the Shrine Maiden called.

Beruka froze, one hand on the doorknob. Waiting.

"The one-eyed man, with the white hair,” the Shrine Maiden put forward. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

Beruka nodded tightly, for something had suddenly lodged in her throat, and then was gone.


	23. Chapter 23

The inn’s stables were comfortably warm and predictably smelly, Xander decided the following morning. They were also blessedly quiet, unlike the Key Dragons’ rooms. As a royal son, Xander had never had to share a bedroom, aside from the occasional military campaign. And although he would never complain aloud (except possibly to Camilla, and even then, probably not), he _did_ dislike the lack of privacy and silence.

He leaned against a wall and took a sip of coffee. It had been a private victory this morning to discover that the Hoshidan inn even carried the Nohrian drink, but Xander was not one to dissect blessings overmuch. The tavern had been too noisy to put up with first thing in the morning, and so he’d come out here, to the stables.

They were nothing like the royal stables at Castle Krakenburg, but Xander was pleasantly reminded of the astral plane. There were a few horses munching on hay and sleeping standing up, and a Pegasus or two. The lack of wyverns had initially struck him as odd, but Xander remembered that Hoshidans didn’t care much for the beasts, and Camilla hadn’t brought dear Ilse.

Xander felt his heart tug at the sight of a brown courser eerily similar to Leo’s. What was his little brother doing this morning, he wondered? Coordinating troop movements? Studying magic in a few stolen moments of free time? Keeping Elise’s mind occupied to prevent her from worrying? Missing Odin and Niles’ banter despite himself?

Leo had never wanted a leadership role, and Xander knew that. His little brother simply wanted to be left alone with his books and his horse. He did his duty as befitting a prince of Nohr, but he had not been born and bred for court intrigue, as Xander had. He knew that this had been a grave disservice to Leo, but there was nothing to be done about it now, except his damnedest to give the boy the life he actually wanted.

_The man,_ Xander corrected himself. _Leo is a man, now._

It was still a challenge for Xander to reconcile his younger siblings with the adults they’d become, sometimes. When Elise had been born, Xander had been in that awkward state of adolescence where his voice had begun to crack and his body had begun to feel too big and too small, all at once. Elise’s mother, the concubine Daniella, had finally allowed visitors a week after the girl had been born, and Xander had been the first to see his new baby sister.

She had been born with a soft fuzz of blonde hair, and when the midwives had shown him how to hold the infant, Elise had opened her eyes—vibrantly violet, even then—and giggled at him. Well, she’d burbled, really, but that was the exact moment that Xander decided the Succession War needed to end. He had lost too many half-siblings already; he would not lose this little one, who was so happily nestled in his arms.

After that, he’d sought out Camilla, who had, even then, a reputation for being able to ferret out gossip with tact and aplomb. He proposed an alliance (using those _exact_ words; modern Xander could have laughed), and to his surprise, she’d immediately agreed. Back then, Camilla had been a timid little thing—her mother’s doing, no doubt. Queen Katerina had never liked the concubine Inge, and so Xander never had, either. Which made Camilla’s assent all the more surprising.

“Did you see the new baby, too?” Camilla’s child-self had asked.

And Xander’s child-self had nodded, and understood.

The alliance they’d formed had been formidable. Xander had the protection of Queen Katerina, even after her death, and Camilla had the courtly know-how to use it. They convinced some of their half-siblings to drop out of the race, so to speak, simply by planting the seed of inadequacy in their minds. King Garon largely stayed out of the concubines’ infighting, deeming it beneath him, and so Xander and Camilla were all each other had.

At first, Dame Inge had been beyond thrilled that Camilla appeared to have befriended Queen Katerina’s son, but it soon turned to annoyance, and then borderline treason when Camilla refused to move against him. As they grew older (and as Camilla’s necklines dropped), Xander began to notice bruises that couldn’t possibly from training or a wyvern. He began to hate Dame Inge, but Camilla always pleaded with him not to move against her mother, and so he stayed his hand.

When Leo had been introduced to the court, he had been a delicate youth a good five years younger than Camilla, and even more distanced from Xander. But something about him had struck the both of them. Maybe it was that he had violet eyes like Elise, who was now a toddler and still too young to be embroiled in the Succession War or even the court. Maybe it was the way that he clutched the book hidden away in his robe at dinner, as if he wanted nothing more than to slip between its pages and disappear. Maybe it was the news that one of their many half-siblings had been kidnapped and executed by Hoshido a few weeks prior. Or maybe it was simply that Xander wanted a little brother.

Whatever it was, Camilla and Xander had approached him the next day, and their duo became a trio.

Leo was still young enough that everyone thought his courtly gaffes were cute, and he used that to his advantage. He could pry for information practically with impunity, and he was often the only denizen of the library at any given moment. And so Xander took to studying in the library, as well, and Camilla would find excuses to bring them tea or little sweets she’d conned (later, flirted) out of the kitchen servants.

Xander wasn’t sure when they’d started calling each other sibling in truth. They had always _been_ “sister” and “brother,” of course, but it had been a courtesy title, an acknowledgement of Garon’s inability to commit to a single woman for any significant length of time.

But the first time that he’d championed Leo’s bladework as “Brother, that was excellent!” and Camilla’s scheming as “Sister, that’s genius! And also sort of terrible.” and found a certain fondness in the titles, he knew.

He knew that family meant a lot more to him than it did to their father, and he knew that he would never, _ever_ take a concubine if he became king.

That love of family extended outward, too. Dedrick and Hildehrand had been loyal and chivalrous practically to a fault, and Xander had loved them as he did Camilla and Leo. Garon had admonished him for getting too attached to his retainers—on more than one occasion, too; Xander could vividly recall the bruises he had supposedly earned—but Xander didn’t know another way to be. If caring about people was a bad thing, then the only thing that he could figure was that, somehow, the King was wrong.

Their deaths hit him exactly as hard as King Garon had predicted. They’d been surrounded on all sides by Hoshidan infantry—a scouting mission gone horribly wrong—and Dedrick had told Xander the words that would forever ring in his ears late at night:

“Save yourself, sire, we’ll hold them back!”

Xander hadn’t been much older than Elise was now, and not nearly so wise. He had wanted to reason with them, wanted not to leave them behind, but Hildehrand would have none of it. He practically shooed Xander away, and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Dedrick, blocking Xander from the front line. It left Xander no choice but to do as ordered. He urged Siegmund forward, and the destrier’s gallop brought him further and further away from the two men who’d pledged to serve the Crown.

When he’d finally been able to return several days later, their bodies had already begun to decompose. Xander was left with no choice but to order them burned, and he made sure to personally return the ashes to their families, along with some of their more personal effects—Dedrick’s beloved drinking horn and Hildehrand’s ancestral pocket watch. King Garon had berated him for being soft, and it was one of the only times in living memory that Xander had stood up to the King, simply by standing by his own decision. He’d paid for it, of course, but he had done it.

And he would do no less for Laslow or Peri, if it ever came to that (Xander prayed that it wouldn’t). Peri would be easy enough. All he had to do was track down the next Dormand in line to the dukedom and pass off Peri’s ashes and her beloved lance. Laslow, of course, would be more challenging, but Xander was reasonably certain he could convince Odin or Selena to help him track down this Frederick fellow, and bring him his son’s ashes and his late wife’s missing costume chain.

Xander pulled that golden chain from his breast pocket, letting the cool metal pool in his hand. It was difficult to imagine a dancer’s costume that would require such loud finery, but Xander supposed anything was possible, and also that his reaction was very Nohrian. As was his intention with it.

“That’s pretty,” a hoarse voice commented.

Xander’s head snapped up, and he found himself face to face with Hinoka.

“It isn’t mine,” Xander heard himself say, “it’s Laslow’s. Kagero picked it up outside the Crescent Butchers’ fort.”

“Hmm.” Hinoka folded her arms across her sternum. “Why do you still have it, then?”

“I haven’t had the chance to give it back to him, yet.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.

“Don’t you see him every day?”

Xander bit back on his molars as he tried to come up with an answer that didn’t divulge either the plan or Laslow’s secrets. But he needn’t have thought too hard, because after a moment, Hinoka began to laugh.

“I’m prying,” she said, “aren’t I? Yukimura tells me all the time I need to stop doing that.”

“Yukimura?” Xander asked, grateful for any chance to reroute the conversation. The foreign name rolled strangely off his tongue.

“He’s our family advisor, a great strategist,” Hinoka said, easily enough. “He served our father, and his father, all the way on back.” She laughed, a little. “Queen Mikoto, too.”

“I see,” Xander said, a bit stiffly. “How fortunate for Hoshido.”

After another long, awkward moment, Hinoka cocked an eyebrow. “Does your family not have someone similar?”

“No,” Xander said tightly. “I _arrested_ one of my father’s advisors two years ago, for...” He tried to recall Hans’ exact crime, and found he could not. “Well, as Leo puts it, _shady shit._ And now Hans is out of prison and serving the royal family with a full pardon! Iago is a slimy worm who is a blight on and an embarrassment to the country, and Zola is the same, except spineless.” Xander paused. “I suppose that makes Iago a snake, and Zola a worm, but…” He made a dismissive gesture. “…point remains.”

Hinoka was staring at him a way Xander couldn’t quite read, but she was grinning. “I touched a _nerve,”_ she said, laughter almost beneath the words. “I’m so sorry.”

Xander sighed, and tried to roll some tension out of his shoulders. “It’s alright,” he said. “You didn’t know, and it’s not a secret. Camilla will tell you the same.”

Hinoka stared at him for another moment, and Xander was beginning to wonder if there were something on his face. “Can you move?” she finally said. “You’re in front of my Pegasus.”

“Oh.” Xander felt his face flush and immediately stepped sideways. “Apologies.”

Hinoka hummed her thanks and then stepped forward to unlock the stall. The white Pegasus within whinnied in a way Xander could only describe as happily as Hinoka moved to greet it. She scratched behind its ears as if the creature were a dog. “Good morning, Akatsuki!” she said brightly, as if Xander weren’t even there.

She picked up the brush from its hook on the wall and began brushing down her Pegasus, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Xander’s first thought was that _doesn’t she have servants or retainers for that?_ but his second was _well, you do the same thing for Siegmund._ His reckoning of the eldest Hoshidan princess immediately went up by several points.

“So,” Hinoka said, drawing Xander’s attention back to her, “are you hiding out in the stables because of that thing?” She tapped at her chest, where Laslow’s mother’s chain lay in Xander’s pocket.

“No,” Xander said, and it was only partially a lie. “Back home, one of my morning duties is to care for my horse, Siegmund. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I sort of miss it.”

Hinoka nodded in understanding. “Kind of meditative, isn’t it?” She paused. “Well, it’s the closest I ever get to meditation, anyway.”

Xander snorted. “Who has time for that?”

“Azama,” Hinoka returned. At Xander’s questioning gaze, she added, “He’s the monk, who came in with the clumsy archer the other day. They’re both my retainers.”

“How does a monk come to be in the service of a princess?” _And of all things, why keep a clumsy_ archer _in your service when your brother is known to be the best in Hoshido?_

Hinoka paused in brushing her Pegasus. “By saving her from all the reckless shit she does.” She smiled wryly. “I had trouble training Akatsuki when I was younger.” She patted the Pegasus affectionately on the flank. “Pegasi like calm hearts, you know?”

“And yours wasn’t?” Xander guessed.

“Not in the slightest!” Hinoka laughed. “But anyway, Azama found me after I fell onto a mountainside when I was… probably thirteen. Akatsuki was being particularly feisty that day, and I must’ve pulled too hard on the reins, because she bucked me off. I’m fully convinced I would have died if he hadn’t tended to my wounds and sent me on my way. He refused then, but I hired him on a few years later.”

After another moment, Hinoka said exactly what Xander had been thinking: “But I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Because it’s relatively harmless information,” Xander said after a moment, “and we’re supposed to be…” He trailed off.

“Were you going to say friends?” Hinoka asked.

“I was,” Xander admitted.

“Well, _I_ was going to say,” she began, still brushing down her Pegasus, “that it’s because you seem far more…” She paused, her face screwing up in concentration as she searched for a word. “… _human_ than I was expecting.”

“Were you expecting a wyvern?” Xander tried to joke.

“I was expecting the enemy,” Hinoka said quietly.

Xander sighed. “So was I.”

She hung the brush back on the wall, and patted her Pegasus affectionately again. She then turned to Xander, and said, all in a rush, “Would you like to pet her? I hear they’re really different from wyverns.”

“They don’t have scales,” Xander pointed out.

Hinoka genuinely laughed as Xander set his coffee mug down on a railing and stepped softly into the stall beside her. There was hardly room for the three of them, but Hinoka didn’t seem to mind standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a man she’d previously been at war with and had just called the enemy. Or if she did, it didn’t show on her face or in the way she carried herself.

“Hello, Akatsuki,” Xander said, feeling slightly absurd but emulating the Pegasus’ owner just the same. He reached out with one hand, as he had been taught, and allowed the Pegasus to sniff the unfamiliar scent.

And then she snapped at him, and Xander jerked his hand back.

“Your heart’s not calm,” Hinoka said softly, “is it?”

“Never was.”


	24. Chapter 24

“You know,” Selena remarked one morning as the newly-extended Key Dragons Mercenary Company hiked onward, “I expected a lot more… I don’t know, _shit_ out of the Hoshidans. So far, they’ve practically just ignored us.”

"Are you upset by this?” Laslow asked.

"Not exactly.” Selena made a wishy-washy motion with her hand. “But how am I supposed to push their buttons if I don’t know what they’re _like?”_

Odin snorted. “That _would_ be what you’re upset about.”

"Well, look,” Laslow said, gesturing to where Takumi and his retainers were walking ahead of them. “Up there. Do you see how Oboro watches and follows Takumi? That’s a crush if I ever did see one.”

“And over there,” Odin added, gesturing to where Ryoma strode stiff-backed and tense, as if waiting for a fight, “do you not note how Lord Ryoma carries himself? I say, he is a mirror image of our Lord Xander.”

“Not that,” Selena said, waving the both of them off, “I know all that. I mean the things that will _really_ get reactions. Like staring at you, Laslow, or telling you your names are dumb, Odin.”

Both men bristled, but it was Laslow who said, “Why do we hang out with you, again?”

“Oh, you can’t get rid of me.” Selena grinned, but it seemed almost predatory. “I’m practically your sister.”

“Please do not be my sister,” Odin mumbled. “I’ve had enough of those.”

Selena cocked an eyebrow. “You didn’t have a sister.”

“No, but I had enough female cousins to make up for the lack!”

Laslow laughed, and when Odin and Selena glanced to him, he said, “I’m simply picturing tiny Lucina pulling on his hair or drawing all over his little boy’s mage tomes.”

Selena laughed—genuinely for once—and Odin grinned despite himself. “Lucina was never so frivolous,” he said

The three Ylisseans grew somber as they each recalled why.

"Excuse me,” said a lilting, Hoshidan voice.

All three turned to find the wily diviner, Orochi, catching up with their conversation circle. Laslow was the first to overcome his surprise, “Orochi, you’re looking lovely today. How might we be of service?”

Her eyes narrowed, and Laslow had the distinct sense that this woman was playing cat-and-mouse. “I seem to have misplaced one of my tarot cards,” she said. “It depicts a brook and a fish. Have any of you seen it?”

All three Ylisseans shook their heads. “Did you ask at the tavern before we left?” Selena asked, almost managing to keep all the sharp edges out of her voice.

"I did,” Orochi said shortly. “I was simply wondering if anyone picked it up.”

"We will keep an eye out for your mysterious, magical fortune cards,” Odin promised.

Orochi cocked an eyebrow at him, and opened her mouth to say something. Laslow quickly cut in, “A brook and a fish, you say? Anything else you can tell us?”

Orochi sighed. “Just that the cards are special to me, and I would much appreciate it back.” After another moment, she offered up, quietly, “Kagero painted my whole set.”

"Kagero?” Laslow glanced to the ninja despite himself. As expected, she was keeping pace with Ryoma and Saizo, and the three were conversing in quick Hoshidan. “I had no idea she was an artist.”

"Oh, yes.” Orochi broke out into a genuine smile, and it changed Laslow’s whole impression of the woman. “It’s one of her favorite pastimes.”

"I had no idea,” Odin said, studying the ninja, as well.

Orochi made a noncommittal noise—“Well, if you’ll excuse me.”—and continued on her search.

“That reminds me,” Selena said once she had gone, “Laslow, did you ever find your mother’s chain?”

Laslow felt his chest practically cave in. “No.”

"Chin up, friend.” Odin patted Laslow prodigiously on the back, but it was clear his heart wasn’t in it. “I’m certain it will make itself visible soon enough.”

"I’m sure you’ve asked Xander and Peri,” Selena began, “but what about Kagero?”

"Oh! No, I hadn’t.” Laslow glanced back to where the woman in question was now deep in an argument with Saizo. “She looks like she might appreciate being liberated at the moment, anyhow.”

Odin laughed. “Go on, then.”

"Just try to keep the flirting to a minimum,” Selena snapped. “I’ve heard they’re an item.” She gestured to Kagero and Saizo.

Laslow made a face. “Duly noted.”

He threaded his way around the various conversation circles until he reached the two ninja. The argument appeared to have heated up in the interim, for although Laslow could not understand Hoshidan, he recognized the tight postures and angry timbres easily enough.

"Excuse me, Kagero?” he cut in. “A word, if you would?”

She looked relieved, but it was Saizo who said, “For what?”

Laslow was shocked speechless for a moment. “What do you mean, ‘for what?’ You… aren’t going to be a part of the conversation.”

"For what purpose,” Saizo said lowly, stepping closer to the grey-haired man, “do you seek out Prince Ryoma’s retainer?”

"Saizo, that’s enough,” Kagero hissed.

Maintaining his smile was becoming a bit of a chore. “For a purpose that doesn’t concern you?”

"If it concerns Kagero, it concerns me.”

Something dark flashed in Kagero’s eyes, and Laslow finally just outright asked, “Have I done something to offend, Saizo?”

"You’re a _fop,”_ the red-haired ninja spat. “I cannot fathom how the likes of you became Prince Xander's retainer. Where did you come from, anyway? How did you find your way into the royal family?”

"That’s… complicated,” Laslow admitted.

Saizo’s good eye narrowed. “And _that_ is not an answer.”

“How about this, then?” Laslow couldn’t say what, exactly, but something in him definitely snapped. He took careful, measured steps toward the man. “You have _no idea_ who I am, or what I’ve seen, or what I’ve done.” A grin spread across Laslow’s face, delicate and dangerous. “Because if you had, you might notice that I smile too much on purpose.” 

Saizo bit back on his molars, and unbeknownst to the retainers, Ryoma was eyeing the encounter intently. “You are beneath my notice,” Saizo snarled.

"Clearly not,” Laslow said with an over exaggerated wink. “Kagero, seriously, a word?” He jerked his head backwards, a bit more insistently, this time.

Kagero hissed something in Hoshidan to Saizo, and then followed Laslow away from prying ears. Laslow could feel Saizo’s glare digging into his back the whole way.

"I would apologize,” Kagero said with a sigh, “but that would imply he wouldn’t do that again.”

"Is Saizo always that charming?” Laslow asked.

"Oh, it’s usually worse,” Kagero assured him. “But anyway, what did you need?”

"While we were at the Crescent Butchers’ fort, I lost the gold chain I typically wear here.” Laslow patted the hip in question. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen it, would you?”

Kagero stared at him for a long moment, and Laslow could have sworn she was debating something. But it was just his imagination, because she eventually said, “No, I don’t believe so. Why, is it important?”

Laslow sighed, and his shoulders drooped a little. “It belonged to my mother, is all.”

Kagero’s eyes widened. She knew what that tone meant, alright. Kaze and Saizo had it sometimes, when they spoke of their mother. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Oh, it was years ago.” In an attempt to remain flippant, he added, “Or did you mean the chain?”

Kagero snorted. “Both, I suppose.”

Laslow sighed again, and then Kagero watched as he visibly straightened his spine and stretched a smile across his face. “By the by, Orochi mentioned you were an artist. I had no idea.”

Kagero let out a long-suffering sigh. “Orochi is a good friend, but she likes to talk up my napkin scribbles.”

"Well, whatever you call them, I’d like to see them.”

Kagero looked genuinely taken aback. “No, you wouldn’t!” She laughed, but it sounded harsh, even to Laslow’s ears. “Everyone finds my paintings so dismal and dreary. Even Orochi calls them ‘apocalyptic.’”

Laslow studied her for a moment, and then, abruptly, asked, “Did you know my mother was a dancer?”

Kagero’s brow furrowed. “No, I didn’t.” _Obviously,_ she couldn’t help but think.

"Well, then you probably also didn’t know that little Laslow used to mimic her steps. He was a clumsy little thing, always knocking into table legs and chairs. Used to annoy his father to no end.”

Despite herself, Kagero couldn’t help but laugh at the mental image. She almost asked where he was going with this, but the ninja knew the value of patience.

"When that little Laslow grew up, he went to war. And during his first tours of duty, he was dreadfully shy and could hardly use his talents for much of anything. But later, after he came to Nohr?” His grin grew a touch more genuine. “He found that he could dance in a way that brought his allies strength, the way his mother had.”

Kagero studied him keenly, but she was still smiling. “And what am I to take from this?”

Laslow snorted. “A long-winded way of saying, from one artist to another, that the best art is meant to be shared.”

Kagero continued to study him. “Alright,” she finally said. “I have a sketchbook with me. Tonight, after dinner?”

Laslow beamed—“Capital! I’ll be with Odin and Selena.”—and departed before she could protest other people seeing her work, too.

Kagero turned a glance across the Key Dragons, such as they were. It had not escaped anyone’s notice that by and large, like kept to like. It was hardly surprising, given that until a week ago, all of these people had been at war with one another, but Kagero couldn’t help but feel that they were all missing something, somehow. As if there were some cosmic joke they hadn’t yet all been let in on.

When she spotted the Crown Prince of Nohr, however, she felt her feet begin to move almost before the conscious thought. Although hers was not to question— _especially_ the other side’s future king—for the kindness Laslow had shown her, she would at least attempt to return the favor.

"Prince Xander,” she said upon approach. The man in question had been deep in conversation with his sisters, and turned at the sound of his name. “Could I have a word, please?”

"Certainly.” He nodded to his sisters, who then departed, each with a quiet greeting on her way past Kagero. “Does Ryoma need something?

“No, milord,” Kagero said carefully. “It’s about Laslow.”

"Was he flirting with you?” Xander sighed hugely. “I’ll have a chat with him.”

"Actually, no. At least, I don’t think so.” He _had_ witnessed Saizo, after all. “He asked if I’d seen that golden chain he lost.”

Xander’s back stiffened. “And what did you tell him?”

“I told him no, I hadn’t.”

Xander’s shoulders slackened in evident relief. “I see.”

"With all due respect, Prince Xander,” Kagero said, choosing her next words carefully, “please understand that I am not in the habit of lying, particularly for foreign royalty, nor do I intend to pick it up.”

"Of course. So the question becomes, why would a ninja in the employ of the High Prince of Hoshido lie for the Crown Prince of Nohr?”

"Because he reminds me of Lord Ryoma in a great many ways,” she said quietly, “and I’ve often found that, if I’m not privy to the details of his plan, it’s often in my best interest not to interfere with it.”

Xander studied her for a long moment. “You place that much faith in him?”

"And more,” she assured him. “So, if you’re as much like him as I think you are, I think I can spare you the benefit of the doubt.”

Xander nodded. “I suppose I’m honored.”

The corner of Kagero’s mouth turned upward. “I will say, however, that I do believe Laslow would rather like it back.”

The amusement drained from Xander’s face. “I’m aware. Was that all you needed, Kagero?”

She nodded. “Yes, milord.”

“Then kindly go.”

-)

That night, after the camp had been set up and rations passed around, Kagero and Orochi made what would become known as the first major Hoshidan-Nohrian overture of friendship in almost two-hundred years.

The two women—Orochi with her tarot deck and Kagero with her sketchbook—got up from their spots near the Hoshidan firepit, and, both incredibly aware of the eyes upon them, made their way across the no man’s land between the two countries’ denizens.

"Lord Ryoma,” Saizo hissed, “will you not stop her?”

Ryoma was watching his retainer intently, but all he said was, “She has done nothing wrong.”

Laslow, Odin, and Selena greeted the two Hoshidans with cheerful smiles (well, Selena’s was more like a not-actively-grim one) and rearranged themselves to make space near their fire. Several other people scooted away, and Kagero and Orochi tried not to mind.

“I can get you both some ale, if you like,” Selena said, getting to her feet.

"You don’t have to—” Orochi began, but Selena was already gone.

"Well, Kagero,” Laslow said over the rim of his tankard, “let’s see these mysterious paintings of yours, shall we?”

Kagero was still clutching her sketchbook to her chest. “You have to promise not to mock me.”

Laslow put his hand to his heart. “On my honor.”

To Laslow’s right, Odin did the same. “By my fell hand and aching blood, it shall be so.”

Orochi, who had not had the pleasure of learning Odin’s speech patterns yet, merely stared at the man, but Kagero, who had, merely held out her sketchbook with both hands.

Laslow accepted the leather-bound book with uncharacteristic solemnity, and then began to flip through the pages carefully. The careful brushwork and delicate inking was diminished somewhat by the sheer _doom_ emanating off the pages. It was a simple landscape portrait, likely painted on the bank of a river somewhere, but even so, the picture seemed to be screaming in fear.

Laslow opened and shut his mouth a few times as he struggled to come up with something to say, and Odin studied the paintings with equally as careful an eye. Kagero studied both men as they flipped through the pages, anxiously playing with the end of her ponytail while Orochi hovered like a hawk.

After a few more page flips, Laslow finally found his voice, “Your technique is rather impressive, Kagero. The way you manage to impart, um, tragedy is really something.”

Kagero’s shoulders drooped. “You don’t have to fear hurting my feelings, Laslow. I did warn you no one—”

“By all the darkness there is,” Odin suddenly piped up, “By all the grimness ever conceived…” He appeared to be at his equivalent of a loss for words. “By every speck of doom that has ever lodged in the white of Odin's eye—I declare this a work of genius!”

Kagero’s jaw actually dropped, but it was Orochi who said, “She said not to mock her!”

“That’s the thing,” Laslow said, “he isn’t.”

“This one!” Odin exclaimed, taking the sketchbook from Laslow and pointing to a particular painting. “This is brilliant! What do you call it?”

“It’s, um, a just something I imagined,” Kagero said, “half dragon, half caterpillar. I’m thinking of calling it a silkwyrm.”

Odin’s facial expression as equal parts deathly serious and incredibly excited. Laslow hadn’t seen that combination in years. “This monster sprang from the depths of your imagination?”

"Er, yes?”

"Selena!” Odin said as the woman appeared, carrying two new tin mugs of ale. “Look at this!” He thrust the painting toward her, and Selena recoiled instinctively. “Isn’t it cool?”

“It’s… something, alright,” Selena agreed, passing the two mugs to a bemused Orochi and a dumbstruck Kagero. “Really striking technique, though.”

"That’s what I said!” Laslow exclaimed.

"Ugh, you people never recognize genius,” Odin huffed, getting to his feet.

Laslow snickered. “We love you too, friend.”

Odin rolled his eyes as he glanced about the Nohrians’ camp. “Ordinarily, I would show such art immediately to Lord Leo, but as it stands…” He zeroed in on a head of white hair. “Niles! I’ve found something that demands your attention!”

The outlaw glanced up from where he was playing cards with an increasingly baffled Corrin, and immediately, his brow furrowed. “What in the hell is that?”

“A silkwyrm!” Odin exclaimed. “Kagero painted it!”

"How dreadful,” Niles muttered, turning back to his game.

"It’s really interesting, Kagero!” Corrin called over her shoulder to the ninja.

Odin looked personally offended—“Oh, that is _it!”_ —and took off running.

Kagero was up and moving just a half-second too slow to catch him. “Odin!” she shouted after him. “Bring that back!”

Odin appeared not to have heard her, as his pace didn’t slow. He bolted right across the no man’s land what would become known as the first instance of Ylissean-Hoshidan friendship in… well, nobody was ever quite sure.

He tried to brush past Saizo, but the ninja wouldn’t allow it. “What the hell are you doing?” Saizo demanded.

"Look at this!” Odin said gleefully. “Kagero painted it! Isn’t it cool?”

"She wastes her time with such nonsense,” Saizo said. “A royal retainer should focus on her liege.”

Odin blinked a few times. “You’re allowed to have a life, are you not?”

Saizo recoiled at the question, and by the time he’d come up with an answer, Odin was already moving again.

“Lord Ryoma!” Odin called, rounding on where the prince in question was sitting with his siblings beside the bonfire. “Did you know Kagero is a painter?”

Ryoma quirked an eyebrow. “I did. She has quite the aesthetic.”

"I know!” Odin grinned, proudly thrusting the painting towards the three Hoshidan siblings. “Is this not most marvelous?”

“It’s good to see you’re branching out from landscapes, Kagero!” Hinoka called over to the ninja as she pelted across the no man’s land.

"Even if she still doesn’t know there’s a color palate,” Takumi muttered as he deftly scooped up more rice with his chopsticks.

"Odin, _please_ give it back,” Kagero said. “I told you, no one likes them!”

Odin looked to Kagero, and then over to her liege, who made an apologetic face, and then Hinoka, who suddenly found a tear in her skirt incredibly interesting, and then Takumi, who shrugged, and then back to Kagero.

"Well, _I_ do.”

He said it with such intensity that Kagero wasn’t the only one taken aback. She could only stare at the blond mage, but eventually, Ryoma came to her rescue. “Well, Kagero,” he said with genuine fondness, “it seems you’ve found yourself a fan.”

Odin looked to Kagero. “Can I have this?”

That, more than anything else this evening, really had Kagero at a loss. “Um?” was all she could think to say.

“I want to get it framed,” Odin continued, “and place it upon the mantle of the house I may one day own, so that all who enter my domain will see it. And when they ask where I came upon such a unique and auspicious piece of art, I’ll tell them a ninja painted it!”

A grin broke out across Kagero’s normally stern face. “Sure.” She nodded, at first hesitantly, and then with more fervor. “Sure, why not? It’ll only gather dust in my sketchbook anyway.”

“Thank you!” Odin shouted, making Hinoka jump and Takumi wince. Ryoma alone remained unfazed. “I’m so excited!”

“Odin,” said a flat, familiar voice, “Lady Camilla wishes to know what all the commotion is?”

Odin turned to Beruka and held out the sketchbook once more. “Kagero painted this dreadfully cool monster. She said I could have it!”

Beruka cocked her head to study the painting for a moment, and then glanced to Kagero. “Can… I see any of the others?” she asked. “I think I might be feeling something.”

Hinoka looked taken aback, while Kagero laughed in the awkward, I-have-no-idea-if-you’re-joking sort of way. Ryoma studied the blue-haired woman as if to determine her aim. Only Takumi’s laughter was genuine.

Odin leaned over to the youngest prince to hiss in a theatrical whisper, “She has a condition.”

Takumi’s eyes widened, and he immediately ducked his head and began shoveling rice into his mouth again.

“Sure,” Kagero said, “Beruka, was it?” At the assassin’s nod, Kagero smiled a little more. “I was over at your campfire, anyway.”

The three of them took their leave of the royal siblings, Odin chattering excitedly, Beruka listening with quiet intensity, and Kagero holding her precious sketchbook again, albeit with less of a death grip.

"Well, I’ll be damned,” Hinoka said once her brother’s retainer was safely out of earshot. “That’s two fans she’s found today.”

“Those Nohrians are crazy,” Takumi muttered between mouthfuls of rice. 


End file.
